


When It All Comes Crashing Down

by realmsoffreedom



Series: The Darkness Inside Us [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), All Time Low (Band), Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/F, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, basically everyone's gay and mentally ill it's great pt. 2, gay as fuck, group home au, there's no het in this lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:45:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 58,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: The worst is over. Things are finally starting to look up. But the damage has been done, the foundations have been cracked, the bear has been poked, and everything is all about to come crashing down. Life as they know it is no longer. Nothing will be the same. Tragic pasts have been reignited and old skeletons have fallen out of tightly shut closets and the truth is, no one is safe.And this might be the thing that destroys them.Sequel to 'The Darkness Inside Us'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. 
> 
> If you're reading this, I'm gonna assume you've read the first story. If you haven't, turn back now and go read it. You _need_ to have read that for this to make sense. There are also a ton of spoilers, so please, read that one first. I put them into a series so it's linked at the top where the rest of the information is. 
> 
> I'm gonna let the story speak for itself on this one, but know that the angst in TDIU is not going to be toned down. If you're sensitive to anything I've tagged, be careful. I'll put trigger warnings at the beginning of every chapter, but this story will be dark and raw and graphic and I'm not going to tone it down. If you need a synopsis of a particular scene/chapter, message me on tumblr (theghostofashton) and I'll be happy to give you one.
> 
> This chapter's not too bad. Anxiety and panic attacks, but even those are mild.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Mama, can I go over to Ry’s?”

“Mom, can Mikey come here?”

“Hey, when can you take me to Luke’s?”

“Mama, Lex is sayin’ his new meds make him feel sick, can you call Lucas?”

“Mom, Aws is really hurting, can he take something?”

“Mom?”

“Mama?”

“Alright alright, one at a time.” Jordan says, looking at Brendon, Gerard, Michael, Jack, and Geoff, who’ve managed to gather in a small pack around her. “Gerard, take my car and drive Brendon over to Ryan’s and Michael over to Luke’s, and _then_ go pick up Mikey. And please, fill up the tank while you’re at it? There’s money on the counter. Geoff, Jack, go back to them, we’ll be there in a minute, okay?”

“But mooooom…”

“Are you seriously gonna argue with me right now?” Jordan raises an eyebrow at him. “You want your brother over, you take your other brothers to see their boyfriends. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Gerard harrumphs and snatches a pair of keys from the bowl and the money off the counter. “If you’re not in the car in five minutes I’m leaving.”

“You absolutely are not!” Jordan calls after him. “If you leave without them your ass is grounded, do you hear me?”

He shouts something incoherent back, and she sighs. “Jesus christ.” She glances at Quinn, walking around to stand behind her and rest her head in her shoulder. She wraps her arms around Quinn’s waist and groans. “Why do we have fourteen kids?”

“Because we’re still tryna get the fifteenth,” Quinn mutters. “I’ll take care of Alex, you handle Awsten?”

Jordan nods. “You’re my angel. I love you.” Quinn turns her head and she pecks her lips. 

“Mom!”

“Coming!” Jordan yells. “Jesus fuckin’ christ.” She shakes her read. “Run away with me?”

Quinn laughs. Jordan jumps when she feels her slap her ass. “We lost that chance when we adopted fourteen children, my love. And now one of those darling children needs you. So it is your duty to go.”

“And it is _your_ duty to be a pain in my ass, isn’t it?”

Quinn smirks at her. 

“MOM!”

“I’m _coming_!” 

She turns for the stairs with another sigh.

It’s going to be a _long_ day. 

…

“Hey love, Jack said you- oh, sweetheart…”

Quinn sighs and joins Jack on Alex’s other side, adding her hand to his on his back as Alex vomits violently into the trashcan. She moves her other hand to his forehead. “He doesn’t have a fever…how long has he been like this?”

“He’s been feelin’ sick all day,” Jack tells her. “Ever since he started taking those new pills.”

“And you didn’t eat much lunch either babe, did you?” Quinn says, as Alex finishes vomiting and lifts his head. She smoothes some hair out of his face. “Jack, can you get him a towel and some water?”

Jack nods and rushes off and she scoots onto the bed beside Alex. “Is it just the nausea, love? Do you feel anything else? I know you’re hurting but you have to tell me. I want to help you.”

“Dizzy,” comes Alex’s reply, tired and weak-sounding. “I don’t feel good…”

“Here baby.” Jack returns wielding a washcloth, which he uses to wipe Alex’s face and then fold and place on his forehead. “C’mon, you gotta drink something…”

“Jay…” Alex reaches for him feebly, closing his eyes. 

Jack glances at her, and Quinn nods. “Go ahead, kiddo. Hold him. I’m gonna call Lucas, but I definitely think this is a side effect from increasing his prescription. And Alex, honey, I’m gonna see if you can have some Tylenol, but you need to drink the water, okay? You need fluids. Jack, make sure he-”

Jack wraps an arm around Alex’s shoulders and draws him into his body, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I will.”

They switched Alex’s meds as soon as Awsten got out of the hospital. There was a therapy session that involved a lot of repressed feelings and pent up emotion coming out resulting in increasing medication in an attempt to begin healing the trauma the trials caused. The lasting effects were unable to be staunched.

It’s been a day.

It’s been a day since Alex’s trial and Awsten’s release from the hospital and they still haven’t been able to put it past them because Luke isn’t theirs and Awsten’s parents are waiting for sentencing and the hell they thought was over is just beginning.

It’s like the trials were these huge rushes of adrenaline, bang ‘em out quick, and now that they’re all over the dust is finally starting to settle and the effects are starting to be felt and everything is starting to go to shit.

There’s too many feelings, too many scraps of emotions pressed into vaults and locked behind chests _save them for later when everything isn’t so chaotic_ and the frenzy is dying and the tension is rising and it all feels too big, a tsunami headed for a little coastal town that’s unprotected and unprepared and underestimating the devastation of the wreckage. 

There are fourteen of them – fifteen, given Luke’s parents give no shits about his mental health and catering to his anxiety – fifteen different personalities, fifteen switches that could flip at any moment, fifteen panic buttons that could be hit at any time. There are fifteen of them and two of her – three, god fucking bless Lucas – and those odds are still not good. 

None of this is good none of this is right none of this is going to be okay she can see the tension the panic the chaos she can see the switches flipping and the buttons being pressed and everything exploding she can see it all turning so bad so fast.

And all she can do is armor their chests and prepare them for the carnage. 

…

When Jordan enters Geoff and Vic (Awsten’s) room, she’s greeted by a whimper.

Awsten is propped up on three pillows in an attempt to support his battered ribcage, with an icepack on his abdomen and his casted arm resting across his chest. His head is turned to the side and buried in Geoff’s chest, and their free hands are joined.

“Hey kiddo,” Jordan says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Can you look at me for a second, love?”

Awsten lifts his face and wipes his nose on Geoff’s shirt. She cringes, reaching for a tissue from Vic’s nightstand and using it to wipe his face. His lip is quivering and his face is swollen. “Mom…everything hurts…”

“Oh baby, I know,” Jordan sighs. She leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead, discreetly checking for a fever. “You’re not warm. Your next pill isn’t for another couple hours. How long has the ice been there?”

“Almost twenty minutes,” Geoff answers.

“Dammit,” she mutters. They were given strict instructions to take the ice off after twenty minutes to prevent burns. On for twenty, off for ten, in constant cycles like that. This is the worst time for the pain to spike. “I’ll bring you some Advil, okay? And you and Geoff can eat in here tonight.”

“I want it to stop hurting,” Awsten chokes out. He grabs her shirtsleeve in his fist. “It hurts to breathe I don’t feel good it hurts everything hurts I don’t- I can’t-”

“Awsten.” She grabs his wrist, making sure to avoid the stitches. “You gotta take a deep breath hun, alright? You _cannot_ have a panic attack right now. It’s gonna make you hurt so much worse. I know you’re upset and scared and in pain, but you need to stay calm. Take deep breaths. Focus on Geoff. I’ll have someone bring up the Switch so you can watch him play Mario Kart or Zelda or something, anything that’ll help you calm down, but you need to help yourself too, alright?”

Awsten nods, inhaling a deep breath with her. He lets out a little cry, hand flying to cradle his ribcage. “Ow…”

“I’m here,” Geoff murmurs, kissing his cheek. He moves his arm to support Awsten’s back, leaning over him to capture his lips in a kiss. “I love you.”

“Alright!” Jordan chuckles. “Whatever works, but do not get _on top_ of him.” She swats Geoff’s shoulder. “He can’t take your weight, kiddo.”

Geoff rolls his eyes and moves so he’s straddling Awsten’s hips with his knees on the bed. “Better now?”

“Considering I’m your mother, no,” she replies. “I’ll go get you the Advil love. And Geoff, _please_ , try to be gentle with him. He’s still recovering.”

“It helps!” Awsten giggles as she heads for the door. She turns her head to see Geoff peppering his face with kisses, Awsten laughing all the while. 

She brings a hand to her heart. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

These boys turn her world.

…

“Why’re we eating in the living room?”

“Wait, who died?”

“That’s _not_ funny.”

“I wasn’t tryna be funny!”

“We’re eating in the living room because we wanted to have a family night,” Quinn says, setting a bowl of pasta on the coffee table. “And we wanted you guys to be comfortable.”

Jordan grabs the spoon and ladles two scoops of pasta into two bowls. “I’m gonna go take these up to Geoff and Awsten, I’ll-”

“No need.” 

Alex lifts his head off Jack’s shoulder, as Geoff and Awsten emerge from the hallway. Geoff has both hands on Awsten’s waist, holding him as they walk slowly into the living room. Awsten’s face is twisted in pain and he’s biting down on his lip. 

“Shit.” Jordan rushes to help, clearing a space on the couch. “What part of ‘bed rest’ did you not understand, babes? He just had _surgery_. He can’t be up and walking around and climbing up and down the stairs just yet.”

Alex cringes at Awsten’s groan of pain as Geoff and Jordan help him onto the couch. He turns his face back into Jack, swallowing thickly. His stomach hasn’t settled since it was ejecting from his body this afternoon. He’s not sure why he’s even bothering to eat dinner. It’s gonna come back up anyway.

“You’re okay,” Jack whispers, kissing the top of his head. Alex lifts his head slightly and pecks Jack’s lips. He rests his hands on Jack’s shoulders, just above his collarbones, and ducks his head slightly. 

“I feel like shit…”

“I know,” Jack replies. “So do I. But we just gotta get through this and then we can go upstairs and cuddle and sleep.”

“Awsten honey, I was about to bring you guys food, you didn’t have to come all the way down here…”

“I, um,” Awsten’s voice is shaking. “I wanted to be with everyone…please don’t make me go back upstairs…”

Alex’s heart aches. He can see the shiny eyes and quivering lip. He wishes he could go over and hug Awsten but if he gets up he’s gonna be sick. The nausea hasn’t subsided. It keeps getting worse. The pungent odor of pasta and garlic bread and lemonade fuck it smells fuck fuck fuck he’s gonna be sick.

“Oh love, it’s okay,” Quinn says. “Next time though, we’ll come to you rather than you coming to us, okay? Save you all the pain.”

They dish out the food. Alex stares at the cheese-laden noodles in his bowl. His heart is racing. His stomach is churning. He can feel the sweat, the cold, the wave of ice washing over him, cracking and breaking all over his back.

It’scomingit’scomingit’scominghe’sgonnabesick.

“Alex? You okay, hun?”

He lets the bowl fall to the floor and hears it break and almost falls in his haste to untangle himself from Jack and run for the bathroom. 

And then he vomits and tears spill from his eyes and the ice melts and he’s hot and everything is closing on him the world is getting smaller he’s getting bigger and nothing feels right and he wants it all to go away.

He wants to go away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings - bulimia, anxiety, panic attacks, and abuse.

Patrick’s on his third bowl of pasta.

Pete watches, as Patrick shovels forkful after forkful of noodles into his mouth. He’s already gone back for seconds and he’s just about to finish his thirds and Pete’s really hoping fourths aren’t on his horizon.

The difference between Patrick and…Brendon, for example, is the approach they have to food. Brendon is sitting on the adjacent couch with Jordan next to him, her hand on his back as he takes tiny mouthfuls of his food. Patrick, on the other hand, is scarfing down his meal like it’s the first time he’s seen food.

And Pete’s watching. He’s been watching for days, noticing when Patrick slips out of bed at night and how the box of cookies Jordan bought yesterday is already 3/4ths empty and how Patrick always tastes minty fresh when they kiss, like he’s popped a tic tac or chewed some gum or _brushed his teeth_.

He’s not stupid. 

He knows Patrick’s relapsing; he knows the fight Jordan and Quinn had triggered him, he knows he’s purging again. 

Patrick rises to his feet to refill his bowl.

Pete reaches out and bars him from taking another step, resting his arm against Patrick’s stomach. Patrick looks at him. His eyes are wild. His pupils are dilated. His hair is sticking to his forehead. His skin is pale. Pete can feel his stomach groaning underneath his hand. “You’re okay babe. C’mere, sit with me. It’s okay.”

“I’m gettin’ more food Pete, let me go.”

Pete sighs and gets to his feet. He leans over to whisper in Patrick’s ear, “you’re not hungry love. You just want to be too full so you have more to empty. And it’s not healthy. You’re hurting yourself and I’m not gonna let you keep doing it.”

Patrick stiffens. His grip on the bowl tightens. He looks from the pot of pasta to Pete and bites his lip.

“’Trick, please, just try ta understand…” Pete tries. 

Patrick sits back down almost robotically. He puts his bowl on the floor and crosses his arms over his stomach and turns his head away and Pete swallows.

“You know I love you, right?” He ventures, taking his seat back and kissing Patrick’s cheek. His skin feels clammy. Sweaty. Salty. Patrick doesn’t move.

The lump in Pete’s throat grows. His own stomach flips over, threatens to send the pasta he’s consumed up through his esophagus. There’s already a towel on the carpet covering the mess Alex made – he refuses to add to it. 

“I love you,” he repeats. His voice breaks. He kisses Patrick again, on his forehead this time. He won’t look at him and Pete’s heart is racing and his head is spinning because _what the fuck is wrong with you you just got okay again things just started to go back to normal why are you trying to ruin them again_.

Patrick doesn’t respond.

…

“What the fuck is this?”

Kellin winces as he lowers himself into the chair, keeping a hand on his abdomen. He’s mostly healed. The pain in his knee is gone and he got the cast off on his wrist a few days ago. They said the broken ribs would take the longest to heal and they were right. He can laugh and cough and _breathe_ without pain, but moving abruptly or bending over or stretching to reach something leaves him achy and breathless.

“I thought we were done with these.”

“Yeah, the trial’s over, what the fuck?”

Lucas takes a seat next to Awsten – Kellin can’t stop looking at him and his bruised face and messy hair, the recognizable and too real agony on his face every time he takes a breath in – and waves a hand. “I just wanna check in without the others, okay? I know some of you aren’t saying what’s really on your mind because of them and I want you to have a space where you can talk about _anything_ , without worrying about who it’ll hurt.”

“Okay, but does he really havta be here?” Kellin mutters. Awsten’s eyes are glassy and his lip is pulled in between his teeth. There’s a pillow behind him in attempt to support his back and abdomen, but it seems futile considering the ashen look on his face. “He should be in bed.”

Lucas sighs. “He insisted. Awsten, I _told you_. You can be excused. I’ll tell your moms to send Geoff down here and you can go and cuddle with him and take a nap. I’ll come to you.”

“N-no,” Awsten protests. “I love him I just. D-don’t wanna hurt him. P-please. Let me be here with everyone.”

“Take my spot,” Frank mutters. “Gerard and I had plans for tonight.”

“You can have sex another night.”

“How do you know _that’s_ what we were gonna do?”

“Wait hang on, do you seriously _plan_ when you’re gonna fuck?”

“I _fucking_ hate all of you.”

“Okay!” Lucas throws his hands up in the air. “All of you, quiet. Awsten, if the pain is too much, you can text Geoff and get him down here. Don’t suffer in silence kid, please.”

“Can we just get on with it?”

“I don’t feel good,” Alex mumbles. “Jack and mama think it’s the meds. I dunno. I feel sick and nothing feels right and I don’t know what to do.”

“Changing meds brings all kinds of shitty side effects while your body adjusts,” Lucas says. “It’s only been a couple days. I wanna give it a week, see if your body will adapt and you’ll be okay, before we have to change them. And we will, if need be. There are still so many we can try.”

“Luke should be here.”

Kellin feels his heart start to speed up at that. He lifts his head and looks over at Calum, at the lowered head and clenched fists and rigid frame, and swallows thickly. “He-he’s right. It doesn’t feel right without Luke.”

“You fuckin’ gave up on him,” Calum growls. He’s glaring at Lucas, speaking through gritted teeth. “All of you. You gave up on him! You’re acting like this is some kinda celebration like yay the trials are over we’re all back! But we’re not! Luke’s not and we’re not complete without him, but you assholes don’t give a fucking shit do you? He’s still going through hell! Why doesn’t anyone care?”

“Calum, hey, listen to me,” Lucas says. “I know you’re upset. I get it. But I need you to hear me when I say: _no one_ has given up on Luke. Your moms are still fighting, fighting _so hard_ to get him back. Laura’s working overtime. I’m trying to put together something of my own to prove that neglect is just as much abuse as physical violence. We’re not doing nothing, I promise. I know you’re upset and I know Michael’s upset and that’s making it worse for you, but we’re doing everything we can here. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Calum rises to his feet and walks up to Lucas. “All you care about is Alex and Awsten. No one gives a fucking _shit_ about Luke!” His voice rises. Kellin can hear the tears. “No one gives a shit about how bad it is for him, it’s all ‘oh my god Alex oh my god Awsten oh my god they’re gonna get killed’! What if Luke fuckin’ kills _himself_? You don’t know anything, you don’t hear him crying on facetime to Mikey every night, you don’t fuckin’ _care_! No one cares!” 

Kellin turns to the other side of the room. Alex has his knees pulled up on the chair and his face buried in them, arms wrapped around his head. Awsten is staring straight ahead. Kellin follows his gaze to the wall. He’s blinking rapidly. His lip is quivering.

“Aws…” He slides out of his chair and crouches down next to Awsten’s. “Ya gotta breathe, okay? Your ribs. I know you’re panicking but trust me, broken ribs hurt so much on their own. Don’t make it worse on yourself, do you want Geoff?” He doesn’t wait for Awsten to answer, instead yanks his phone from his pocket and types a rapid, albeit messy text to Geoff.

_come downstairs right now aws is panicking everything’s a mess he needs you NOW_

He lifts a shaky finger to tap Geoff’s contact and hit the ‘call’ button. He lets the phone ring twice and then hangs up. Geoff’s phone will ring and he’ll see the text and know something’s wrong and come down here and be Awsten’s knight and everything will be okay he’ll come down here he’ll come down here he has to-

Awsten is his roommate and although they don’t spend a lot of time sleeping in the same room, he’s still the person Kellin opened up to first, the first friend he made, the person who held him when Vic kept breaking his heart and pressed constant ‘you deserve betters’ into his skin.

Awsten was always so ready, so willing, so _giving_ , of himself and his love and all the warmth he had. He was always up for a cuddle and never let Kellin go to sleep feeling bad and did whatever he could to make the shitty days easier. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says. “Geoff’s coming.”

“D-Don’t hurt me,” Awsten chokes out. “I’m sorry I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to please _please_ don’t hurt me.”

A tear rolls down Kellin’s cheek. He rests a hand on Awsten’s back and bites his lip. 

_Geoff, hurry the fuck up…_

…

“It’s okay baby boy, you’re okay. I’m here, everything’s okay. You’re so safe and so warm and so loved okay? Try and breathe angel, please. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Awsten hasn’t stopped crying. His breathing is erratic and he’s whimpering and sobbing and Geoff’s shirt is wet and his heart is broken and his own chest is aching. “Please lovely, try and calm down.”

“I’m sorry,” Awsten gasps. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Geoff says firmly. He moves his hand to the small of Awsten’s back and then smoothes it up higher, just between his shoulder blades, nowhere near his ribs. He begins to rub soft, slow circles, pressing them into Awsten’s skin alongside kisses against his hair. “I have you, okay? Remember? You’re home. You’re in my arms, you’re home you’re safe, nothing can hurt you here, I promise.”

“I promise I’ll be good don’t hurt me.”

Geoff stops. His hand stills against Awsten’s back and he lifts his other arm from where it was draped over his hip. “Aws? It’s me. It’s Geoff. Your dad’s not here, he’s in jail love, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Geoff,” Awsten repeats faintly. “You’re…here?”

“I’m here,” Geoff says. His voice is shaking. He hopes Awsten doesn’t pick up on it. He knows he knows he _knows_ the flashbacks are common and Awsten’s not entirely there yet and the smallest thing can set him off, but he didn’t know it was possible for Awsten to have one like this, in his so-called safest place. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“He hurt me…” Awsten cries. “He hurt me so bad…”

“I know,” Geoff chokes out. He bites down on his lip hard enough to taste copper. He’s never felt like this before. Awsten just keeps getting hurt, over and over and _over_ again. He has a _ruptured spleen_. His body is a battlefield and every single scar is a testament to what Geoff _couldn’t_ do, the times he _couldn’t_ be there, the beatings he _couldn’t_ save him from. “I know he did, I know. But it’s over now. You’re home. You’re safe. He’ll never hurt you again.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Geoff tries to sound firm but his voice breaks in the middle. He drapes his arm back over Awsten’s hip and brings him in closer to his chest, then presses his lips to Awsten’s head. “If he ever wants to _touch_ you again, he’ll have to kill me first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Thank you guys so much for the support last chapter. You honestly have no idea how much it means to me. I'm so glad so many of you are excited about this story. I am too. It's gonna be different from TDIU, but there are definitely going to be a ton of the same elements that you all loved from that story. 
> 
> Next chapter, Michael visits Luke (and you actually get to see the scene this time), Patrick has a...bad night, and something's seriously up with Alex. The more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy trigger warnings for anxiety, panic attacks, and purging here. be careful message me on tumblr (theghostofashton) if you need a synopsis.

“Mikey…”

Luke steps onto the porch and tilts his head up to brush their lips together. Michael smiles, wrapping his arms around Luke’s back and dragging him closer. He pulls him as close as their bodies can get without breaking the kiss. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs against Luke’s mouth. “How are you, baby? S’everything okay?”

“You, um,” Luke hesitates. He lets his hands drop from the side of Michael’s face. “You wanna come in?”

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks, as he follows him into the house. Luke motions to where he can leave his shoes and hang up his jacket but Michael ignores it. He grabs his wrist and turns him so he can look him in the eye. “Luke. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“Can we just…I’ll tell you upstairs,” Luke says. He looks at the floor. He’s biting his lip and fiddling with his fingers. 

Michael knows Luke. He’s known him for four years. He knows his dory quirks and anxious habits and the things he does when he’s in a good place and the signs he isn’t. He knows without Luke having to say anything, he _knows_. 

He toes off his shoes and hangs his jacket in the coat closet, then takes Luke’s hand and brings it to his lips. “I love you so much, okay? I’m here. Moms said I could stay as long as you need me. I’m here.”

Luke doesn’t reply. He heads for the stairs, pulling Michael alongside, but keeps his back to Michael when they finally reach his room. He’s not making eye contact and barely looking at him and the lip-biting and finger fidgeting and shaking are back and Michael knows he’s getting bad again even though he won’t admit it.

“Lukey.” Michael lets the name slip from his lips as soft as he can. He holds open his arms and beckons Luke with his fingers. “Please. C’mere. Let me hold you. Talk ta me. I wanna help. Whatever I can do.”

“I just,” Luke chokes out. “I can’t do this anymore. And I’m trying.” He grabs at his hair and gasps out a sob. “I’m trying _so hard_ but nothing’s different they’re not different they haven’t changed and I can feel myself going back, I can _feel_ myself rotting from the inside out and turning into who I was and I don’t want to be that person I _hate_ that person but I don’t know what else to do I don’t know how to fix it I don’t know anything I.” He stops. A guttural cry bursts from his throat and he collapses onto the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in them, sobbing.

Michael pushes himself off the bed and down to the floor in one motion. He pulls Luke into his arms, to sit between his legs. Luke squirms blindly for a few seconds until he finds his chest and Michael feels his shirt begin to dampen. He leans down and presses a hard kiss to the crown of Luke’s head. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get you out of here baby, I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay. Just keep breathing for me, alright? You’re doing so well. My beautiful boy, you’re doing so fucking amazing and I am so proud of you. I love you so much.”

“I can’t do this,” comes the choked sob. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Michael rubs his back and tousles a hand through his messy hair. “You’re not alone. You’re never alone. We’re gonna get you out of here and back home where you belong and everything’ll go back to normal and we can go back to pissing Ash off and makin’ Cal walk in on us havin’ sex. Okay? It’s gonna be okay baby. I promise.”

…

He flattens himself to the mattress and turns his head slightly.

Pete’s eyes are shut and his chest is rising steadily as he sleeps. He’s snoring softly, clutching a pillow in place of Patrick’s body. He bites his lip and slides out of bed, landing on tip toe, and hurries out of the room and down the stairs. 

It’s three in the morning and everyone’s room doors are closed. The entire bottom floor of the house is dark – Gerard isn’t curled up in the family room sketching, Geoff isn’t stretched out across the living room couch playing video games…insomnia isn’t a bitch and everyone’s in bed and he looks up at the ceiling, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’, as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

He doesn’t turn on the light and instead yanks open the door to the fridge. He pulls out the leftover pasta, a tub of ice cream, a bag of mini Hershey’s bars, and the rest of the pound cake Quinn baked earlier today. He shuts the fridge with his foot, brings the food over to the table, and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly, then reaches for the bowl of pasta.

Starting is the hardest part. Taking that first spoonful requires the most effort, the most thought, the most fierce battle with his conscience because _you’re about to ruin an almost two year streak and you’ll regret this in a few hours_ , which, yes, he definitely will, but he always regrets a binge. Being clean for two years doesn’t change that.

He shoves the spoon into his mouth. His hands are shaking. His heart is racing. The spoon is sliding around in his slippery, wet hands. He grips it tighter and takes another mouthful and keeps his eyes closed as the subsequent ones going in. He doesn’t see the contents of the bowl diminish, doesn’t feel the contents of his stomach increase, lets all those thoughts float out of his mind as he empties the bowl of pasta and reaches for the ice cream.

_It’s not gonna stay._

_You’re gonna get rid of it._

_It’s gonna be fine._

_You need this_. 

He finishes the ice cream quickly. The carton is half empty when he starts and he crunches it in his fingers a little over five minutes later. And then it’s the candy bars and Quinn’s cake and he can feel his stomach stretching and expanding and the food settling and not settling because the last time he ate this much in one sitting was just shy of two years ago and he may have lost it.

He stares at the empty containers. Tears are starting to blur his vision. He bites his lip until he tastes copper and looks down at his belly poking out of his shirt, very visible and much rounder than it was a few nights ago. He moves his hand down to his stomach and stops at the curvature. 

_Get rid of it._

_Before you digest anything, hurry up!_

_There’s no point to any of this if you’re just gonna eat like a pig._

_You’re only halfway there._

_Part 2!_

_Now!_

And two minutes later, when he’s shoving his fingers down his throat and squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the sight of the disgusting pig reappearing, tears are running down his cheeks and his heart is racing in his chest and his hands are shaking and he’s choking on tears and saliva and vomit and wondering how he got to this point.

How did this happen when did it get this bad why is he back here again he thought he was getting better he thought he was finally over this he thought it was over hethoughtitwasoverhethoughtitwasover.

 _He thought it was over_.

It’s not.

…

“Jack?”

Jack glances at him midsentence, reaching for him with one arm, attention still focused on Ashton. 

Alex squirms and pulls at the collar of his shirt. “Can you, um, can you come to bed?”

“We just woke-” Jack cuts himself off. “Lex…you okay?”

“Bed,” Alex repeats faintly. His heart is racing. His head is pounding. The room is spinning in all different directions. “Please…”

“Hey, whoa.” He feels himself start to fall and then two hands under his arms that hold him steady. “Alex, what the hell’s wrong? You…this isn’t just a fucking side effect, something’s seriously not right…”

“No,” Alex replies. He blinks rapidly to focus on Jack and holds up a hand. “I, um. Haven’t slept. S’not the meds. Please just. Come.”

He wants to explain. He knows that the half-assed explanation isn’t enough for Jack, but he really isn’t up to explaining himself with Ashton and Gerard and Frank and Brendon and Ryan watching. He hopes Jack won’t be stubborn and insist he talks right here and right now because he’s already starting to feel sick.

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off him as he follows him to his room. Alex can feel his eyes boring into his back. He turns around as soon as Jack shuts his door behind them and slides onto the bed. Jack steps forward to stand in front of him but doesn’t move to join him on the mattress.

Alex can feel his heart break from its suspension in his chest and descend lower, down into the pit of his stomach. “Jay…please…”

“Tell me what’s wrong.” Jack crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Alex forces out. He feels like he’s on fire and naked in the arctic at the same time. He wants to take his sweatshirt off but the cold sweat is too strong. He wants it to cool down but then it’s too cool and everything feels cold and then he wants heat to balance it nothing is regulated nothing is balanced he feels off everything feels off. “Please…”

“Alright c’mon, breathe.” There are arms around his waist and a weight on his shoulder and the grip keeps tightening. He inhales. Jack’s scent is everywhere, surrounding, encompassing. “You’re okay. You can breathe. Copy me. Do what I do.” Jack exaggerates a breath and he tries to do the same. It hurts at first but the bands around his chest are slowly starting to loosen with each subsequent breath.

He slumps against Jack and closes his eyes. “Sorry…”

“What’s wrong, Lex? I can’t fix it if I don’t know what to fix.”

“You can’t fix it,” he repeats weakly. His vision is going black, edges fuzzy. It’s a tidal wave of tiredness that drapes over him like a sticky blanket. He always feels like this after panic attacks. Heavy, impossibly so. The most menial actions require a significant amount of strength he doesn’t have the energy to summon.

Jack says something but it doesn’t register. He’s fading. The black is encroaching on his vision, shutting out the light in favor of a sea of darkness. 

Jack’s voice becomes mumbles, far away noise that he’s hearing but not comprehending.

The world around him is fuzzy around the edges, getting darker and darker.

And then the darkness overwhelms him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, um...thoughts? I know it looks bad and you guys know me and that means it's not gonna get better just yet, but like you found out in tdiu, I don't write sad endings. Next chapter, alex has a therapy session, there's a living room/domestic conversation (you guys seemed to like the one in the first chapter), and things with frank start to go...downhill. The more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - self-harm, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and eating disorders (anorexia)

“What’s going on, kiddo?”

Alex shifts in his seat. He moves his left hand to the base of his right wrist and snakes his thumb up the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Skin brushes against skin, the smoothness of his thumb contrasting with the rough, scarred skin on his wrist. He presses down and digs his nail into one of the healing cuts. “I dunno. I keep getting sick. The meds aren’t working, I don’t think…”

“The increased dosage is definitely messing with your body chemistry. It’s only been a couple days. I’m not sure I want to change anything just yet. Once your body adjusts the vomiting should go away. If it doesn’t, we’ll go back to your old dosage or try something new.”

“Great,” Alex mumbles. “Can I go now?” There’s a weight in his chest. It feels like he left a piece of his heart somewhere and he’s unable to function without it. He feels like he’s drifting in space, like he won’t be grounded back to earth until he finds that missing part of the puzzle. 

“Not just yet,” Lucas says. “Here.” He pulls a couple tissues from the box on the table and hands them to him. 

“What’s that for?”

“You’re bleeding,” Lucas says. His heart picks up. It beats faster and faster, like it’s just started running a marathon. He looks down at his arm, and sure enough, a trickle of red is dripping down the base of his hand and pooling in his palm. “I’m not an idiot, kid. I cut for almost ten years. Which is why I’m not gonna yell at you or tell you to stop. I just hope you’re cleaning them properly. You don’t want an infection.”

Alex takes the tissues and presses them against his wrist. “I’ve tried to stop before. It never works. Nothing works.”

“It’s hard.” Lucas nods. “One of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Relapse is inevitable and you always feel like shit after. But Alex, you are worth so much more than what you’re doing to yourself. You’re worth so much more than cutting into your skin. I know why you do it. I know it helps you. But someday you’re gonna find something that _isn’t_ self-destructive that helps even more.”

Alex swallows. “Isn’t this the part where you tell my moms? Awsten told me what happens when they find out…”

Daily arm-checks, ten minute showers, no long sleeves, room scoured for all sharp objects…Jordan and Quinn don’t play around when it comes to self-harm. He’s watched Gerard and Vic and Brendon go through it, being forced to wear the short sleeves and having someone stand outside the door while they showered and hearing the rummage as Jordan and Quinn searched their rooms. He remembers it being hell at the time. He doesn’t want to go through it.

“That’s not what this is abo-”

“Are you gonna tell them or not?” He demands. 

“I have to tell them, kid,” Lucas says gently. Alex bites his lip and looks down at his lap. Tears are burning at the corners of his eyes. He blinks. “Alex, hey, can you please look at me?”

He presses harder into his lip and lifts his head. Lucas holds out a hand and he reaches for it tentatively. Lucas smiles and squeezes his hand. “I’m not doing this to be an asshole, okay? I’m really not. And I’m not just gonna tell them you relapsed and be done with it. I’m going to say ‘hey, Alex relapsed and he’s really upset about it but he doesn’t want you to make a huge deal and go overboard making sure he stops; he knows he shouldn’t have done it and he’s trying to stop and that’s only going to make him feel worse’. And you know what? They’ll understand. I promise they will. They only want to help you, bud. It’s not a punishment.”

“I’m supposed to be happy,” Alex confesses. His voice breaks. The tears in his eyes start to roll down his cheeks and cling to his neck. “I’m here for good and it’s supposed to be good but it’s not and I don’t know why I don’t know anything everything’s such a mess I don’t feel good I _never_ feel good and I’m so tired of feeling like this but I don’t wanna say anything because I’m supposed to be happy I’m supposed to be happy I’m supposed to-”

“Hey, whoa, calm down.” Lucas squeezes his hand again, lifting their joined hands slightly. “Who told you that?”

“What?”

“Who said you were supposed to be happy?” Lucas asks. “Because that’s bullshit. The trial was so much for you to handle, kid. It brought back so much you’d buried. The fact that it’s over doesn’t make any of that go away. It’s great that you’re here for good but your problems are still going to be your problems and you are one hundred percent okay and valid to feel sad or numb or _anything_ you’re feeling over them. There’s no guide to trauma. There’s no rules to follow after it’s over. It’s what you feel and how you deal with it and anything is okay.”

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he confesses shakily. “I don’t understand I don’t know I don’t get any of it it’s all so much and I just-”

“It’s okay,” Lucas brings his other hand up to cradle Alex’s in both of his. “It’s okay not to know. It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to feel lost. Whatever you’re feeling is okay. You’re not alone, Alex. I promise you that. The trial is going to be hell to recover from but I promise you’re not alone. You’ve got me, your moms, _Jack_ , and everyone here. And we’re going to get you through this. I promise.”

…

“Can I just…not go to therapy today?”

“Skipping therapy is not an option, babe. Especially not right now.”

“I really, _really_ don’t wanna go today…”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t wanna end up like that.” Frank motions to where Alex is lying against Jack’s chest on the couch. He’s staring blankly at the wall. His eyes are red. His cheeks are swollen. There are dried tear tracks all over his face. “Please, mom. Not today. I don’t…I can’t do that…”

“He _never_ asks ta skip,” Gerard adds. Frank breathes out as his arm comes up to wrap around his waist. Gerard pulls him in and he turns to rest his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “Just this once, can’t you make an exception? He can go tomorrow.”

Jordan sighs. “It’s gonna be bad whether it happens today or tomorrow, kiddo. I don’t know why you wanna push it…”

“I just…I can’t do it today,” Frank mumbles. “I can’t do it _and_ eat dinner _and_ keep it all down it’s too much please just let me skip, _please_ …”

Jordan is silent for a moment, and then she turns her head to the side. “Love, what do you think?” 

“Don’t yell.” Quinn emerges from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “I think we can let this one go,” she continues. “You missed lunch. He almost purged after. I think he needs a break today.”

“Alright,” Jordan agrees. “But tomorrow, you’re going. And you have your group session too so it’ll be a double and I don’t wanna hear you complain about that.”

“I won’t.” His chest feels like it’s exploding, heart about to burst. He turns his face into Gerard’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Gerard’s waist.

“Walk with me.” Gerard begins leading him. He keeps his face tucked firmly into his neck until he feels the backs of his knees hit the couch. He lifts his head for long enough to sit down and curl into Gerard’s lap, then buries his face back against Gerard’s shoulder and lets out a heavy breath.

It feels like there’s a pit in his stomach. He’s too full. It’s not something he’s felt for a while. Eating hasn’t been as hard…and then the trial happened. Old habits die hard. He’d be lying if he said he ate like a normal person throughout those few weeks. Even after he was safe, knowing the rest of his brothers weren’t, watching Awsten and Luke go back…his anxiety manifests in pinched skin and hunger pains. It was the only way he knew how to handle it.

“You’re okay,” Gerard murmurs against his hair. “Just breathe. It’s okay.”

The room starts to fill. He hears voices. Calum is yelling at Michael and Ashton’s trying to diffuse it and Vic and Kellin are having a couples’ disagreement and Brendon’s whining about wanting to see Ryan and Geoff is asking Jordan if Awsten can have more painkillers. He hears all of it. Butts sink into seats and everything gets louder and the TV turns on and someone starts the Switch and the noise slowly dissolves into laughter and arguing. 

He doesn’t look up.

…

“That was a sickass race.”

“I know, right?”

“I totally had your ass beat.”

“And then you fell off…six times…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“It would’ve been better if Geoff played,” Jack says. “He’s really good. An actual challenge.”

“Am I not good enough for you?”

“He spends all his time with Awsten now…I mean, I totally get it, but fuck, man. I miss you.”

“I miss you guys too.” Geoff brushes his lips against Awsten’s temple and looks up. “I miss hangin’. But Aws really needs me right now and I can’t leave him. He’s scared ta be alone.”

“Isn’t that kinda…unhealthy?”

Geoff narrows his eyes. “You try being left on the floor for two days because your dad beat you so bad you can’t _move_. See if it’s still unhealthy then.”

“Whoa, calm down.” Ashton holds his hands up in surrender. “I just mean like. You’re not gonna be there all the time. What’s he gonna do when you gotta be somewhere else?”

“Guys, chill.” Quinn joins them in the living room with a few bottles in her hands. “It’s barely been a week. Awsten’s fine. This is totally normal considering what he’s been through. But Geoff, if you wanna come hang out with these guys sometimes, you’re free to do that. Mom or I can sit with him. You don’t have to give up your entire life to take care of him. If it’s too much you need to tell us.”

“I want to.” Geoff smiles and kisses Awsten’s hair again. He stirs slightly, mumbling something. Geoff keeps his lips against his head and whispers something until he settles. “I couldn’t protect him from all that. I couldn’t do anything. But I can do this. I can hold him and kiss him and make him feel less alone and if it makes him feel better that’s all I care about. I need to do something, and if this is all I can, I’m gonna be the goddamn best at it.”

“I’m gonna puke.”

“You guys are so fuckin’ sweet.”

“Hey Vic, why don’t you say cute shit like that about _me_?”

“I, um…” Vic trails off, glancing at Kellin with wide eyes and a helpless look on his face. “Thanks, Geoff.”

“Anyway,” Quinn says. “Take your pills, and then go up for the night. It’s late.” Jordan comes out of the kitchen with more bottles as she concludes the sentence. They set all of them on the coffee table and make quick work of pulling pills out and separating them into piles. 

“Do I have to wake him?” Geoff asks, after he swallows his own medication. “He just fell asleep…”

“When was his last painkiller?”

“Around dinner. Like, 6? Close to 7?” 

“It’s time for his next dose…I don’t think he should miss it…”

“They’re painkillers love,” Jordan says, wrapping her hand over Quinn’s. “It’s on an as-needed basis. He’s not in pain right now. It’s okay if he skips them.”

“G’night mama,” Jack interrupts. Alex is clinging onto him sleepily, bleary-eyed. His hair messy and he’s blinking rapidly, staring down at Jack’s shoulder. “We’re goin’ up.”

Quinn smiles and leans in to press kisses to each of their foreheads. “Sleep well babes. And remember Jacko, you’ve got group tomorrow.”

Jack makes a face but nods. He steers Alex toward the stairs and begins to talk to him in a hushed voice.

One by one, pills are swallowed and bottles are capped and everyone begins to make the sleepy ascent upstairs. Room doors slam and lights turn off and eventually a silence bathes the house, soft and delicate. 

Serene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? it's about to get...interesting. keep commenting your theories on what's going on with alex, his story's definitely not over and I love hearing what y'all have to say. :) next chapter, update on luke (aka the moms, lucas, and laura talk about the status quo), cashton + michael scene (yeah it's a new development y'all are gonna love it I promise), and angsty frerard. and when I say angst I mean...none of you are prepared. the more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - mentions of abuse, anxiety, panic attacks, and mentions of depression.

“So where are we, on this?”

Lucas takes a seat on one of the barstools and pulls his beanie off. He runs a hand through his hair with a heavy exhale. “Please tell me you have good news because I don’t know how much longer I can keep lying to them.”

“You’re not lying,” Jordan says. “You’re just not telling them the complete truth.”

“Which is as good as lying,” Lucas mutters. “I hate this. I hate telling them it’s gonna be okay and he’s gonna be back here when I don’t know if that’s true. It goes against everything I believe in.”

“Would you rather tell them the truth and deal with them relapsing?” Quinn snaps. “Mikey’s teetering on the edge of destruction.”

“And Calum’s on the road to following,” Lucas replies. “But that doesn’t mean we should fuckin’ lie to them. What if we _can’t_ get him back? All that false hope we’re giving them…”

“Do I tell you how to raise _your_ kids?”

“Hey,” Jordan interjects. “Calm down.” She wraps her arms around Quinn’s waist and presses her lips to her cheek. 

Lucas tilts his head back and closes his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales again, louder and more pronounced this time. 

It’s not fair. Nothing about these kids’ lives and pasts and mental illnesses is fair. They’ve all been through hell and it’s not even a hell they can put behind them because mental illness is waiting behind a tree, consumed by the shadows, ready to jump and latch on and absorb itself into their skin like a disease. It _is_ a disease. Encompassing and encapsulating and hijacking their bodies, acting as a dictator and taking full control.

“We’re on the right track,” Laura says. “We just have to find more evidence, something more concrete. The judge is going to side with biology by nature – we have to give them a reason not to.”

“That’s such bullshit,” he grumbles. “Biology isn’t everything and they should know that.”

Blood is thicker than water but it might be what destroys you. He’s stable and semi-okay _because_ his biological parents are out of his life, which can be said for every kid here. Luke was _fine_ , as fine as he could possibly be with a crippling anxiety disorder, and they took that away. One of the most important things for people with anxiety disorders as bad as Luke’s is reassurance. He had that. Michael gave him that. And now he has nothing but his thoughts and it may not be as bad as them taking their hands to his body but it’s just as damaging.

“I have an appointment to talk to the judge tomorrow,” Laura says. “But in the meantime, we need more concrete evidence. He needs to be able to talk in court. I know his anxiety is really bad, but…part of the reason it didn’t go well last time is because he had the panic attack before he could get to the neglect. The jury won’t be sympathetic. It’s about what they hear, not the circumstances surrounding it.”

“We gave him Xanax last time, didn’t we?” Jordan glances at him.

He nods. “Yeah. Double dose. I don’t- there’s not a lot else we can do in terms of outside shit. It has to come from within. He needs to build up the strength to do it which is not gonna happen while he’s in a place that gives him no love or affection or _anything_.”

“What if you went over there?” Quinn asks. “Yknow, for therapy?”

“I can do that,” he says. He shudders. Luke’s parents seem nothing like Awsten’s but he’ll never get the image of Awsten when he first opened the door out of his head. It’s like a tattoo. Forever.

Only this tattoo is one he’d gladly have removed, take the pain any day.

At least he could _get out_ of his hell.

For good.

Luke may never.

…

“Can I, um…can I sleep here? Please?”

Calum lifts his head off Ashton’s chest and turns to the door. 

Michael is standing in the doorway, both arms wrapped around his pillow. His face is red and his lip is quivering. He sounds like he’s about to cry.

“Yeah.” Ashton’s voice is laced with sleep. Calum feels his body leave the mattress. He supports himself in Ashton’s arm, wrapping his own arm around Ashton to keep his balance so he can turn all the way around. “C’mon Mikey.”

Michael scampers over to Alex’s bed and tosses back the comforter. “I…m’really sorry. I know m’in here a lot. I just. It’s so hard to sleep without him. It’s too quiet. I hate being alone.”

“Maybe we should start sleeping in your room,” Ashton whispers to him. He slumps back to the bed and tucks his head under Ashton’s chin. He closes his eyes and exhales. 

They were just about to get to sleep. The groggy, disoriented feeling is like a warm blanket, draping over them softly. He knows they can’t drift off right now but he’s so tired. Michael needs them but he’s so fucking tired and warm and safe and comfortable he wants to float away with Ashton he doesn’t want to deal with this anymore the hell is supposed to be over it’s supposed to be over why isn’t it over.

“…okay, Mikey. We know you miss him. We get it. Did you talk to him earlier?”

“He wasn’t feelin’ good,” Michael mumbles. “Had a headache. He wanted ta get on but I told him to get some rest. And then he stopped replying so I think he fell asleep. I just…it’s been almost a month. I miss him so much.” His voice breaks. “I saw him two days ago but it’s not enough. I used to see him _every day_. I used to _live_ with him. I don’t know how ta do this.”

Calum groans. He untangles himself from Ashton’s body and presses a kiss to his lips, then slides off the bed and pads over to the other side of the room. “Moms are working on it Mikey, we’re gonna get him back.”

“You don’t get it,” Michael says. There are tears in his eyes, huge droplets forming at the corners. “I’ve _never_ seen him that upset I. I just. I don’t want this to be real I don’t want any of it to be real I want it to be a dream I wanna wake up with him in my arms I don’t want this anymore I can’t do it.” He punctuates the sentence with a gasp, hand flying over to his chest.

“Mike,” Ashton says from behind. “Take some deep breaths alright? You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. Just try ta breathe.” 

Calum feels a hand on his shoulder and he reaches up to rest his hand on top of Ashton’s. He bites his lip. “C’mon Mikey. You’re okay. We’re here for you. Just breathe.”

“I want Luke,” Michael cries. Calum squirms away from Ashton and scoots forward. He wraps his arms around Michael and pulls him into his chest. Michael resists at first, pushing at his chest and kicking out with his legs, but Calum tightens his grip and eventually he settles. He buries his face in Calum’s chest and Calum rests his chin on top of Michael’s head. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Luke…”

Calum turns his head to meet Ashton’s eyes. He feels it, the ache in his chest, the twisting of his stomach, the hot coals lodged in the back of his throat.

It’s times like these he wishes he’d gone back instead of Luke.

It would’ve sucked.

But it would’ve saved Michael all this pain.

…

He drops his pencil.

A low-pitched scream cuts through the air, and he drops his pencil. 

He looks up from his sketchbook and turns around in his desk chair to face the bed. The sheets are a rumpled mess and the covers are twisted in on themselves. The lump they’re confining is thrashing around wildly, letting out little whimpers and cries. 

He slides out of his chair and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed. Frank groans loudly. He reaches under the covers, and then freezes.

His fingers are touching something wet and sticky. His stomach drops. His heart is racing. When he pulls his hand out he sees the ruby red substance, thicker on the pads of his fingers, already starting to soak in and stain his skin. He reaches for a tissue on his nightstand and rubs it around his hand. 

He bites his lip and reaches for Frank’s shoulder with his other hand. Frank squirms away but he tightens his grip on his body. “C’mon Frankie. Wake up. You’re okay. You’re safe. I need you to come back to me, baby. I need you to wake up.”

It takes another five minutes of coaxing and rubbing Frank’s shoulder and at one point, climbing onto the bed next to him and taking him into his arms, before Frank finally jolts awake, breathless and shaking.

“Gee, I.” He pauses. He lifts his hands to rub at his eyes and blanches at the crimson leaking for his wrists. “I…”

“Your cuts tore,” Gerard tells him. His heart is still going too fast. His head feels heavy. He knows he needs to put Frank first right now but his hands are shaking and everything feels amplified it’s too much it’s all too much.

“He…he wouldn’t get off I fought I told him he wouldn’t get off he wouldn’t leave me alone I told him to I _told_ him!” Frank sobs. 

Gerard swallows thickly. _It’s not about you it’s about Frank he can’t comfort you right now stop being a weak piece of shit and do your fucking job. You’re his boyfriend not his burden step the fuck up stop being useless stop being useless stopbeingsofuckinguseless_.

“It was j-just a dream,” he forces out. Frank buries his face in his neck and he rubs his back in soft, firm circles. He inhales a deep breath. He needs to calm down before he can even _begin_ to help Frank stop panicking. How is he supposed to tell him to match his breathing when it sounds almost as bad? “You’re okay Frankie. I’m here. You’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“It felt so real…” Frank lifts his head and rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. The blood stopped, but it’s starting to dry on his skin stickily. “It felt like he was here and you weren’t and I was screaming I kept screaming and no one came no one cared no one-” He stops as he begins to choke on a fresh wave of tears and buries his head back into the crook of Gerard’s neck.

Gerard reaches a shaky hand for more tissues and presses them to Frank’s wrist. He takes another breath. _What the fuck are you even panicking for you worthless piece of shit it was Frank’s nightmare he’s the traumatized one you’re the crybaby stop being a crybaby stop crying._

_Stop crying._

_Stop fucking crying_.

But the tears are already rolling down his face and his chest is already tight and the amount of strength it’s taking to hold his own sob back is already too much.

 _Stop crying_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um...thoughts? I know a lot of you aren't happy with me and you definitely won't be happy about next chapter because it's not going to get better (yet). awsten reflects on some things (you finally get to see how he's feeling mentally), alex gets a shock, and frank starts to feel the effects of his nightmare. the more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - self-harm, suicide, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and eating disorders.

“Aws? Hey, where’s Geoff?”

He glances up at Vic. “I don’t know. I woke up on the couch and he was gone. I- I needa lie down…” He bites his lip and tightens his grip on the railing. “My ribs really hurt.”

“Shit yeah.” Vic pushes off the stairwell and joins him at the bottom. “Lemme help you.”

“M’okay-” He starts to say.

“You’re in pain,” Vic deadpans. “I went through this with Kellin, Aws. You want my help, trust me.” 

Awsten knows he’s right. It feels like there’s a fire in his abdomen, stoked every time he takes another step. Every breath is a new flare. His head aches and his ribs hurt and every bruise is at the sore point, starting to heal but too raw to touch without a wince. Every position hurts. There’s a pocket of tears permanently lodged at the back of his throat, ripped open every time he takes a deep breath or starts to panic or rolls the wrong way.

He lets Vic help him up the stairs. Vic keeps a supportive arm around his waist, just above his pain point. His arm is thinner. Smaller. It feels different. Geoff is bigger. He feels more secure. Awsten knows he can turn on autopilot and Geoff will get him to their destination. He trusts Vic too, but his grip is different and there are no words of encouragement breathed against his hair or soft strokes of fingers across his skin. Geoff draws patterns on his stomach and side, just below his navel, draws words and turns it into a game where he has to guess, _distracts_ him. 

Vic kicks open the bedroom door with his foot and supports him over to the edge of Geoff’s bed. He lowers himself down onto the bed with a wince, keeping a hand pressed to his ribcage. “Fuck.”

“You good?” Vic asks. “D’ya want me ta find Geoff?”

Awsten breaks the skin of his lip and nods. He waits until Vic leaves before he turns onto his side. His teeth sink further into his skin. He closes his eyes. 

Everything hurts. All the time. There’s no break. His chest is tight and his veins are ice and his head is mush. It all feels like a blur. 

He stares at the dark thread in his forearm. The bandages have finally come off, leaving a long row of ugly black stitches in their wake. He traces them clumsily. His vision is starting to go fuzzy. The tears are collecting over his eyes, forming liquid pockets of their own. He wonders how long it’ll take them to burst. 

_He tried to kill himself_.

He took a shard of glass from his shattered phone and tried to end his life, no second thoughts, no consideration of what would happen next, no care for what he would leave behind, the goodbyes he didn’t get to say, _Geoff_ …

He tried to kill himself and no one has said anything about it _including_ Geoff who probably hates him for it because he told him not to do it he made him _promise_ and he did it anyway he couldn’t take it it was too much he did it anyway.

He knows he’s being clingy. He sees the looks everyone else gives them. He knows it’s stupid and unhealthy and Geoff won’t be there forever and every time he thinks about it his throat throbs and sends pain down his esophagus and into his stomach. Eventually Geoff won’t be with him all the time and that’s not a possibility that’s a reality a reality he’s chosen not to face but will eventually have to accept and he doesn’t know how. 

When he was lying on that floor surrounded by his blood and tears, all he could think about was Geoff and surviving this, just _living_ until Geoff came back for him because he promised he would he promised. 

He just needed to survive.

But he didn’t he tried to end it he tried to go he couldn’t keep his promise he couldn’t even do that one thing right Geoff is probably so disappointed but too scared to say anything. 

He’s grown up a disappointment. He disappointed his parents and his friends and everyone around him, including himself. He was the fuck up that couldn’t like girls and couldn’t talk to people and couldn’t keep the fucking weight off, no matter how hard he tried. He’d pinch skin and grip fat and make plans but it was never enough it wasn’t enough itwasn’titwasn’thewasn’t.

He wasn’t enough.

He still isn’t.

He’s the fuck up that tried to kill himself when he promised not to, the shitty excuse for a human being that can’t stop being fat, can’t stop eating, can’t stop getting hurt and worrying Geoff and stressing everyone out and burdening their lives with his pathetic excuse for an existence.

“Love, hey, you awake? I’m so sorry. Therapy ran long.” Geoff slides into bed next to him. His eyes are red and slightly swollen but he’s smiling. 

The bed dips slightly underneath him, just enough for Geoff to shove one arm down and around him. He pulls him close. Awsten buries his face in his chest and inhales deeply and catches the cologne, the sweat, the vanilla, the combination that can only be described as _Geoff_. 

Geoff, who’s been running himself ragged trying to take care of him while also dealing with his own mental illness. Geoff, who’s been nothing but an angel, holding him and letting him cry and scream and punch his chest in frustration, letting him cling and sob and turn every one of his shirts into a tissue. Geoff, who’s put up with so much, who he definitely wouldn’t have lived through this without. 

He tilts his head up to kiss Geoff’s lips. “I’m fine.”

…

He’s heavy.

His body feels so heavy. He blinks rapidly and rolls over. The barrier he expected to be there in the form of Jack’s body isn’t. He finds it out the hard way as he flops onto his stomach. He groans. When he finally gathers enough energy to lift his head up, he squeezes his eyes shut and winces.

It feels so full. Oversaturated. Too heavy to keep up, more energy than he has to exert. He’s swimming. Everything is blurry. Jack’s desk chair is rolling across the floor as he dizzily tries to focus on it. 

He turns his head back into Jack’s pillow and inhales deeply. He stays there, lets Jack’s scent wrap around him like a warm blanket as he takes deep breaths in and out. He doesn’t feel fully awake yet. It’s like he’s hovering in the limbo between dream and reality, semi-aware of his surroundings but also lost in his head. It’s messy and blurry everything is mushing together and it’s making his head hurt. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he lifts his head again, but it feels easier. Everything is achy - his body feels like he’s run three marathons in the same day – but he’s able to sit up against the wall without collapsing into a pile of useless limbs. 

He feels hot. He reaches out to pull his body up against the wall, and stretches part of his arm past the sleeve of Jack’s sweatshirt. When that little bit of his skin makes contact with the outside air he shudders, pulling his arms back into his body. It’s so cold but he’s hot hot and cold everything is a blurry mess he doesn’t know what’s going on why does he feel so bad he’s never felt like this before what’s going on why. 

“Ow, fuck.” He feels the sting as his arm rubs against the sweatshirt sleeve. One of the threads is caught in his marred, rough, bumpy skin. He pulls it free and pushes the sleeve up. “What the fuck?”

His cuts sometimes swell but never to this extent. The ones he made yesterday - four new ones a few inches from his wrist – are overly red, a different kind of red than they usually are. The swelling is darker, a clear oval shape forming around those cuts. Resting his thumb against them stings. 

He doesn’t know what this is. He doesn’t know why it’s happening. He doesn’t know how it happened. He’s been doing this for four years and it’s never been like this. He knows how cuts heal and how many days it takes for them to start hurting and he’s not at the point where they’re going to stop being an inconvenience but they’ve never hurt this bad or swollen up this much.

“Lex hey, you’re awake.” He flips his wrist over just as he hears Jack’s voice. The bed dips underneath him. Jack crawls over to him and presses their lips together and he smiles, reaching up with his (seemingly) good hand to cup Jack’s cheek. “Mama’s puttin’ breakfast on the table.”

Jack can’t eat without him. Not yet, at least. There’ll definitely be someone else at the table, but Alex knows how much determination it takes for him to sit down and eat three full meals a day without purging, knows that while it’s happening it’s not easy, knows that he’s eating but that doesn’t mean the voice in his head is any quieter. And because of all that, he knows to sit down next to Jack and take his hand and rub his thumb against his palm. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look, doesn’t scrutinize, just sits there and holds Jack’s hand until he’s done. 

It’s been working.

“You alright?” Jack asks.

He pulls his sleeve down and nods. “Yeah. Let’s go eat.”

…

“Who wants more?”

“Me!” 

“Me too!”

“Me, if you’ve got enough.”

Quinn laughs, flipping another pancake onto the plate beside the stove. “If I don’t I’ll definitely make more, kiddo. Don’t worry about that.” 

Frank spears a piece with his fork and pushes it around his plate, watching it slide across the ceramic and leave a trail of syrup. Gerard said he wasn’t feeling well and got the okay to skip dinner tonight. He’s been acting off for the past couple days and Frank’s not sure why. 

“Hey mom, can I have the car today?” Vic asks. He reaches for Kellin’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Kells and I wanted ta go to the music store and get ice cream after.”

“You are _so_ whipped.”

“Makin’ up for yesterday are we?”

“Shut up.”

“Sure hun,” Jordan replies. “I’ve gotta run a couple errands after lunch so I can give it to you around 3. That okay?”

“That works.”

“Or you could use mama’s car.”

“I hate that thing.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything.”

Frank stops listening as Vic and Jack begin to argue about cars and rests his chin on his hand. His stomach is growling. He’s surprised no one’s called him out on it. It’s been making those noises for almost five minutes. His plate is full and his stomach is empty and that’s not supposed to be a good thing but it is he wants to bottle up this feeling to reopen every day he decides to indulge his fatass in calories. 

_You don’t deserve them._

_Getting better? All you’ve been doing is eating like a fuckin’ pig._

_You’re fat now._

_Gerard’s going to leave you._

_No one wants a fatass for a boyfriend._

_No one wants a fatass_.

He swallows hard and looks around the table. Jack is taking his last bite and Quinn is talking to him with the biggest smile on her face. _She’s never going to look at you like that stop deluding yourself stop convincing yourself it’s going to work out it’s not you’re fat that’s all there is to it you need to lose weight if you want to be loved._

_You need to lose weight if you want to be loved._

_You need to lose weight if you want to be loved_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? we've got some...issues. next chapter is a lot of lucas - pete goes to him with his fears about patrick, and he goes to luke for a therapy session, cute kellic scene (I tried to post today bc it's vic's birthday but I might've missed it it's still the 10th where I am tho), and a living room conversation that ends...not so well. the more comments i get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think we've had an eight day wait between updates yet. I'm sorry. I got sick on Sunday and I had a huge exam on Wednesday so my life was highkey hell studying and sleeping and forcing every drug known to man down my throat so I could be okay long enough to take it. I promise I won't make y'all wait this long again lmao
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of eating disorders, and depression

“I’m worried about Patrick.”

The words tumble out in a rush. He swallows thickly and shoves his hands in his pockets at the end of the sentence, digs his nails into his palms hard enough for it to hurt. 

Lucas nods. “Why? Have you noticed anything different?”

“I think he’s relapsing,” Pete says. “And I don’t know if I’m right but I’m so scared I am and we just got good we just got better we can’t be bad again I can’t do this again I need him to be okay I-” He pauses, breathless. He pants heavily and hunches over, pulling his hands out of his pockets and resting them on his thighs.

“Deep breaths,” Lucas reminds him. “Slowly. Focus on your breathing. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Pete confesses. His chest feels tight. His heart is racing. “We just got good…”

“Breathe,” Lucas repeats. “You’re doing great. I know you’re scared Pete, trust me, I do. Eating disorders are terrifying. They’re unpredictable and relapses are so easy and it’s so fuckin’ scary to be with someone knowing they could be restricting or purging or slipping back into old, destructive habits. And yeah, it _could_ tear you guys apart. I’m not gonna lie to you. But that won’t happen unless you let it.”

“I tried,” Pete mumbles. “Confrontin’ him. And he got pissed. And now he won’t talk ta me. And I don’t know what to do I don’t want to say anything he’s already pissed I don’t want him ta break up with me I just…”

“You need to breathe, kid,” Lucas says. His voice is firm. “You’re gonna work yourself into a panic attack at this rate. Focus on your breathing. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re gonna talk this out. But if you have a panic attack we’re not really gonna get anywhere, are we?” He softens his tone with a small smile. “I know you want answers. And the truth is, I don’t have all of them. The only person that does is Patrick. I know enough to tell you what you want to know, but I can’t do that if you’re gonna panic on me. So you gotta breathe. Okay?”

Pete nods and inhales. He watches Lucas exaggerate the up-down movements of his chest for a couple minutes, following him shakily, until his breathing finally slows and he slumps back in his chair, letting his eyes slide shut.

“There you go,” Lucas praises. “Alright. You okay? If it’s too much we can do this some other day. I know I always needa nap after I get really panicky.”

“No,” Pete says. “I need to help him. I need you to tell me how.”

“If you’re sure you’ll be okay…” He sounds hesitant. “So, the thing with bulimia…”

…

The doorbell rings.

He shoots up and scrambles to answer it, hands missing the lock the first time from how badly they’re shaking. When he finally pulls open the door, his heart starts to slow down slightly. He feels it, the warmth, the wave of cozy heat that drapes him like a soft blanket.

“Hi…”

“Hey kiddo,” Lucas says. He holds open his arms and Luke stumbles, almost falls over himself in his haste to throw his body into them. He wraps his arms around Lucas’ neck and buries his face in his shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

Luke bites his lip and waits until they’ve pulled away to answer, “didn’t Mikey tell you? M’a fuckin’ mess.”

“He didn’t,” Lucas replies. “And even if he did, I’d still wanna know from you. He’s not the one who should be telling your story. You are.”

Luke looks down at the ground. He laces his fingers together and pulls them apart and curls them back together again. He needs to be doing something with his hands. He needs to be doing something instead of standing there awkwardly and embarrassing himself with how inept he is in anything resembling a social situation. 

“Are your parents okay with us doing this here?” Lucas asks. “Or do they want me to take you somewhere?”

“Take me somewhere,” Luke says immediately. “Please fuck please I havta get outta this house I can’t be here anymore I hate it they don’t let me go anywhere please please please.”

“Whoa.” Lucas holds a hand up. “Breathe. Remember. Deep breaths, okay? C’mon then, let’s go for a drive.”

When they’re finally in Lucas’ car and out of his parents’ development, Lucas turns to him. “Alright kid. Here’s your chance. Talk. About anything you want. I’m not gonna ask you anything, I just wanna hear what’s on your mind. It can be anything.”

“Are- are you…” He trails off. His voice is shaking. His heart is racing. He feels like he’s going to be sick. The world is so much and it all feels so heavy he can’t carry this much he can’t do it he can’t breathe under it it weighs too much it’s too heavyit’stooheavyit’stoofuckingheavy. “Are you gonna tell the judge? Whatever I say?”

“Fuck,” Lucas mutters. “ _No_ , Luke. I promise you. Nothing you say to me is going to be said in a courtroom, I promise. You’re safe here. Say whatever you want, whatever you feel, don’t worry about who’s gonna get hurt by it. This is about you.”

“I want to die.” Luke hears himself say the words and immediately after they’ve left his lips the dizziness increases tenfold. He’s feeling it, the fuzziness, the nausea, the shaking, he’s feeling all of it and everything is combining into one and it’s all so much and he doesn’t know what to do he doesn’t know what’s going on hedoesn’tknowhedoesn’tknowhedoesn’tknow. “I just. I can _feel_ myself slipping back into the person I was four years ago and I fucking hate that person but it’s happening and I can’t stop it I’m never getting out of here I’m never coming home I’m never gonna see Mikey again and I don’t wanna face it anymore I wanna die I don’t wanna live I don’t wanna face it I can’t do it anymore it’s too much I’m done.”

…

“I love you so much.”

Vic takes his hand off the door handle and turns. Kellin is smiling at him, hands stretched out. He takes a step forward and allows Kellin to grip his waist, then leans in to press their lips together. Shoving the keys in his pocket with one hand, he wraps the other around Kellin’s neck and smiles against his mouth.

“I love you,” Vic echoes when they pull away. “Did you have a good day?”

“The best,” Kellin answers immediately. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it.” Vic looks down at Kellin’s abdomen. He reaches out and snakes a hand up Kellin’s shirt. “You…am I hurting you?”

“No,” Kellin replies. He covers Vic’s hand with his own and kisses his cheek. “I’m okay baby, I promise.”

“M’never gonna get that outta my head,” Vic says lowly, training his gaze on the concrete. “Seeing you lyin’ there, covered in blood… _fuck_ , Kells. I just. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.” Kellin intertwines their fingers and pulls their hands from his shirt, bringing them to his lips. He kisses the back of Vic’s hand and pulls him close. They kiss again and Vic bites his lip. Kellin’s eyes are wide and dark but not the kind that make him think about nightmares and hangovers and bugs under his skin, stinging and pricking and reminding him of how bad he fucked things up.

This darkness is a cozy armchair you sink into at the end of a long day, fireplaces and old movies with all the lights off, lazy Sunday mornings spent in bed feeling each other’s bodies and trying to memorize every crevice.

This darkness is home.

He exhales heavily and tightens his arms around Kellin’s chest, breathing heated air against his shoulder. The fabric beneath his lips warms and he presses his face into it, trying to soak it all up before it disappears and dissolves to cool.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Vic replies. “I just- I love you, s’all.”

“I love you too,” Kellin murmurs. He tilts Vic’s chin for another kiss.

They press their foreheads together when it’s over, just staring at each other. Vic reaches out to cup Kellin’s cheek and peck his lips once more. In the past few weeks it’s become very apparent that he came so close to losing Kellin. He knows they didn’t _lose_ Luke, but seeing Mikey show up for dinner with red eyes and hearing him crying through the walls at night and playing video games with Jack while he’s sitting off to the side makes it feel like they did.

They don’t know if Luke’s coming back just the same as they wouldn’t have known if Kellin got sent back and just thinking about it has nausea rolling in the pit of his stomach and tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

He can’t lose Kellin.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do.

… 

“We’re having a group session with all of you tomorrow, so no one make plans for the morning, okay?”

“My plans were sleeping.”

“Same.”

“Not all of us.”

“Cal-”

“Do not fucking start with me.”

“Both of you need to chill,” Jordan says firmly. She takes a seat on the arm of the chair Quinn’s sitting in and crosses one leg over the other. “Cal, love, we know you’re upset. We know Mikey’s really struggling and it’s hurting you. And trust me, we’re doing _everything_ to get him back. We just had a meeting with Lucas and Laura a couple days ago, and Laura went to talk to the judge today. So please babe, can you trust us? We’ve never given you a reason not to.”

“What about how you didn’t tell us about the trials until they started fuckin’ happening?”

Jack winces. He looks over to Quinn’s face and bites down on his lip. She’s staring down at her lap with her hands lying there limply. He can see her lip wobbling slightly. It makes his heart ache. 

He knows they didn’t have a choice. They all know that. But he knows, in the deepest pits of his heart, that Quinn and Jordan wouldn’t have kept it from them if they thought they didn’t have to. He knows they love them and respect them enough to talk to them about things and not sugarcoat and not lie, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. He knows everything they do is for them, he’s known that since he was twelve years old and Quinn had to choose between coming to his talent show or going to start the process of fixing her relationship with her mother and she chose him.

“Calum-”

“No, fuck this.”

Calum rises to his feet and storms out of the room, muttering under his breath all the while. Ashton shoots up with an apologetic look to all of them. “I’ll talk to him. We’ll be there tomorrow. 10, right?” At Jordan’s nod, he forces a smile. “We’ll be there. And I know he’s really sorry. He didn’t mean that.”

And then he runs after Calum. Jack hears his feet pounding up the stairs a few moments later. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily, pressing his nose into Alex’s hair and letting out a loud breath.

No one says anything after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? things are happening and none of them are good, I can promise you that much. next chapter, jack's perspective on what's going on, quinn starts to notice something off with geoff, the therapy session, and alex can't hide for much longer... it's gonna be big and it's definitely going to hurt but as I've said it makes the good times that much better. so hold out for those, I promise they're coming. the more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts

Something’s wrong with Alex.

Something’s been wrong with Alex for a couple weeks now, ever since the trials ended and the medication changed and everything supposedly got better. Something’s been wrong ever since the nightmares started to get worse and the long sleeves started to get permanent and the damage started to rear its ugly head, because the trials are over and the past is behind them but it’s never really behind it’s gone but not forgotten it’s an overflowing closet that’s spilled out onto the ground that you can try your hardest to force shut but everything will keep spilling out anyway.

And he knows. He knows Alex isn’t okay. He didn’t expect him to be. He didn’t expect him to walk out of this unscathed, get back to normal life like nothing happened. He wasn’t okay before the trial and he won’t be okay now. Ripping open a healing scab spills blood, drips into puddles, bleeds avalanches, and you can’t stop an avalanche blood leaves a stain a permanent reminder you can never escape you will never be free. 

Maybe it’s the trauma maybe it’s the meds maybe it’s just depression rearing its ugly head. Maybe Alex is fine and he’s overreacting maybe Alex is dying and he’s spectating maybe Alex is rebuilding and he’s waiting. Maybe he’s just waiting. 

Distracting downplaying pretending there’s something wrong with Alex pretending his problems aren’t the size of oceans pretending band-aids will cover these bullet holes. 

Pretending. (Things are getting bad again)

His stomach is empty and his head is full (Thingsaregettingbadagain). 

There’s something wrong with Alex ( _Thingsaregettingbadagain_ ).

…

“We’re doing things in the living room instead of the basement. Make it easier for Awsten, y’know?” Quinn rests a hand on his shoulder as he steps down off the staircase. He looks up at her. “How’s he been feeling, hun? Any better, any worse?”

“He hasn’t said much,” Geoff says. “He’s definitely in pain. But he’s not talking to me. I…” He trails off, shaking his head and pulling his lip in with his teeth. “I don’t know what to do, mama. I don’t wanna smother him but I don’t wanna let him be alone and it’s so stressful I don’t wanna lose him I want him to be okay I _need_ him to be okay I-”

“Hey.” He swallows against the lump in his throat as he’s pulled into a tight hug. Quinn wraps her arms around his shoulders, just below his underarms, and he throws his arms around her neck. He buries his face in her shoulder, just above her collarbone, and lets out a heavy breath. “Breathe, sweetheart. I know. I get it, trust me. It’s a very fine line to walk and you’re doing such a great job. He’ll talk when he’s ready, but at the same time, letting him get locked in his head is dangerous, you’re absolutely right. He has a therapy session scheduled tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll talk to Lucas. But Geoff, baby, I need you to listen to me, okay?” 

He lifts his head and rubs at his eyes. “What?”

“I need you to take a walk,” Quinn tells him. She brushes a hand across his cheek with a small smile. “After therapy. A break. I know you love Awsten and I know you want to be there for him, but sweetheart, you need time for yourself too. You’re exhausted. You’re not sleeping and you’re not hanging out with everyone and I know you’re trying to take care of Aws, but he’s getting better, kiddo. You can’t use him as an excuse not to deal with things forever.”

“I-I’m not.” His heart is racing. His palms are slick when he rubs them together. 

“You need a break, love,” Quinn repeats. “Just a half hour. After therapy. I want you to go for a walk. Mom and I will watch over Awsten, okay? This is so much for you, Geoff. If you don’t take a break you’ll go insane and I know you don’t want that. Awsten doesn’t want that. He wants you to look after yourself, please baby, okay?”

He swallows again and bites down harder on his lip. “Okay…”

…

“You okay?”

Awsten looks up at Geoff. He feels the arm slide around his waist and behind his back. Geoff curls his fingers around his torso and starts to draw absentmindedly, make patterns with his fingers. Sometimes he wishes he’d use a marker so he could see the doodles on his skin. 

But Geoff’s eyes are red and he looks paler than usual. Something must’ve happened in the literal _two minutes_ he was gone to grab his phone from upstairs. He was fine before he left and now he looks like he’s going to cry.

“Hey.” He shifts his body slightly, biting down on his lip. The seed of pain blooms and blossoms into a rose that sends sparks throughout his entire body. He presses down harder, tasting the copper and closing his eyes briefly. “Geoff. You okay?”

“Fine yeah, sorry,” Geoff says. His words tumble out in a rush and he doesn’t look at him. Awsten swallow. His entire body feels like one giant ache. He wants to wrap himself all over Geoff, curl and cling and coax until Geoff finally caves, but moving just the slightest inch hurts he hurts it all hurts it’s been over a week when is this going to stop.

“I love you.” He tilts his head to kiss Geoff’s cheek. It feels hot, not fever-hot, warm. Like he’s blushing or embarrassed or _anxious_. “I love you so much. I know I’ve been a lot lately. You’re amazing and I love you, okay? Don’t forget that.”

“I love you too,” Geoff murmurs. He turns his head and Awsten slides their lips together. He cups Geoff’s cheek and wraps his other arm around his shoulders.

“Um. Guys?” 

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I did not ask for this.”

“No one came here to watch a porno!”

Awsten rolls his eyes when they pull away. He moves his arm to Geoff’s neck and pecks his lips once more. “Fuck off.”

“Can we just fuckin’ get this over with?” Gerard grumbles. “I wanna go back to bed.”

“Me too.”

“You’re seriously-”

“You fuckin’ bet I am.”

“Alright,” Lucas says. “I didn’t want to go into anything specific or make you guys talk too much. I know you’re all tired, believe me, I am too.” He punctuates the sentence with a yawn as if to prove his point. “But things around here have been getting kinda crazy in the past few days and your moms and I wanted to give you some updates and tell you some things so you guys aren’t in the dark.”

“We _know_ , okay?” Jordan adds. “We know you’re still upset about us not telling you about the trials. We’re trying to be transparent with you guys, but you have to understand that there are some things we, as parents, get to know and you, as kids, don’t.”

“We love you so much,” Quinn says. “We want what’s best for you guys. It’s been that way since the beginning. We wouldn’t do something that hurt if it didn’t mean good things in the end.”

“What’s the deal with Luke?” Calum asks. His voice is tight. It sounds strained. Awsten tightens his grip on Geoff’s hand. He feels Geoff kiss the top of his head and moves his head to tuck it under Geoff’s chin. _He hates you it’s your fault Luke’s still not back he hates you they all hate you they’re sick of you Geoff is sick of you he’s gonna leave you_.

He swallows again. His heart is racing and his hands are shaking and now is not the time for this nonono.

“Breathe, angel.” Geoff’s voice is soft. He feels his lips against his ear. “It’s gonna be okay. Breathe.” 

He doesn’t say more. Instead, Geoff snakes his hand up his shirt and trails his fingers feather-light up his abdomen, past his ribcage, until he gets to the top of his back, between his shoulder blades. Awsten leans into the touch as Geoff begins to trace ‘love’ into his skin, as if his finger is a needle injecting warmth into his body.

“He needs to talk in court,” Jordan says. “That’s all there is to it. He needs to tell his side of the story. They won because he had a panic attack before he could say much and Jack’s testimony solidified their case rather than ours. Luke needs to tell his story if he’s gonna come back here.”

“He- he can’t,” Michael mumbles. “He’s so scared of them. It’s only gotten worse.” He trails off at the end, shaking his head. “His anxiety is so bad he’s not gonna be able to do this he’s never gonna come back fuck I-”

“Mikey.” Lucas gets out of his chair and walks over to where Michael is sitting, nestled between Ashton and Calum on one of the couches. His eyes are on his lap and he has his right thumb slipped under the sleeve of his hoodie, pressing in.

Awsten winces. 

He knows because he’s done it and even if he hadn’t it’s obvious. He expected it. The exhale, the breath left in his chest when he thinks about how Geoff didn’t, how he very well _could’ve_ , but didn’t start and isn’t addicted and will never have to know what it feels like to rip and tear and _hurt_ , to hurt so bad that pain becomes beautiful pictures of red.

“…talk to him,” Lucas is saying. “I’m going to see him twice a week for therapy and every time we talk about this and work out more ways for him to get a better handle on his anxiety. I upped his Xanax dosage and I’m trying to teach him some grounding strategies and it _will_ work, I promise you. We just need to give it time. I know you want to go to court and get him back but if we do it now he’s gonna panic again. We needa let everything work, give it a few more weeks, and I promise he’ll be in so much better of a place and we won’t have a problem winning. Okay? Just hang on a little longer.”

“Okay,” comes Michael’s response, weak and slightly shaky. Awsten tightens his arm around Geoff. He wishes it were Michael he was holding, wishes he could squeeze him tight and promise it’d be okay, but Michael’s all the way across the room and he can’t do it and his boy needs some love right now too so this’ll have to be enough. 

“Alright, that’s it for now,” Jordan says. “Lucas is gonna hang around for a bit if anyone wants to talk, but you guys are free to go.”

“I’d really like it if you all stayed home today,” Quinn adds. “If you wanna invite someone over go ahead, but I want all of you around today, okay?”

“Whatever.” 

“M’goin’ back to bed.”

“Gonna sleep all day.”

“Whoa, Lex.” Awsten looks up. His heart is back to racing. He grips onto Geoff’s shoulder tightly. 

He’s noticed it. Alex keeps puking and is always tired and walks around like he’s in some kind of fog. He’s attached to Jack’s side – it’s not entirely uncharacteristic and he has absolutely no room to talk – to the point where it looks like something’s wrong.

And now it _definitely_ looks like something’s wrong. Alex is swaying on his feet, one hand pressed to his forehead. He’s white. His eyes are unfocused but moving around the room rapidly. 

Jack is holding him, both arms tight around his chest and upper torso. He tightens his grip and shakes Alex slightly. “Lex? Hey, what’s goin’ on? You with me? Lex? _Alex_?” His voice breaks at the end. Awsten grips tighter onto Geoff’s hand, squeezing harder and harder _what the fuck is wrong Alex what the fuck is happening is he okay he looks like he’s gonna pass out he wasn’t panicking what’s going on is he okay AlexAlexAlex_.

“Move!

“Guys get back, give him space.”

“Alex? Babe, can you hear us?”

“Blink once for yes and twice for no, c’mon love, breathe.”

“Alex?”

“Alex?”

“ _Alex_?”

Awsten wishes he’d moved to hide his face in Geoff’s neck.

He wishes he could be graced with temporary blindness.

He wishes he’d stayed upstairs and never bothered coming to this.

Anything would be better than seeing Alex’s eyes literally roll back in his head as his body falls to the ground like a limp ragdoll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah um. I'm sorry. it was bound to happen, I've been hinting at it since chapter one lmao
> 
> next chapter is the last scene from alex's point of view, followed by aftermath. frerard. angsty jalex. it's gonna be a lot and none of y'all are ready and I'm very excited so...the more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. hi guys.
> 
> I'll give you the short version of excuses since I know y'all have been waiting for so long. I had midterms and I'm taking a bunch more harder classes this semester so things got pretty crazy. I've been writing a lot of prompts and working on a gawsten fic on wattpad because they don't take nearly as much planning as this does. I've got eight couples (nine counting quinn and jordan) and fifteen main characters to focus on, and interweaving plotlines and connecting everything the way yall love is harder and more time-consuming than it looks. trust me.
> 
> but I'm on spring break now, so I promise, this will _never_ happen again. I stockpiled a lot, with tdiu, but I haven't had time to do that, until now. here's my promise. I'm so sorry about this.
> 
> and now I'm gonna shut up and let y'all read I have kept you waiting long enough
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of depression, mentions of self-harm, and mentions of suicide.

He feels heavy.

His body feels like it weighs ten thousand pounds, like he exists on a separate level. He’s off in a different plane of existence, watching his lump of flesh struggle to sit up and pay attention to the conversation that’s happening. Moving the slightest bit has the ache flaring up in his bones, a needle infusing it into his skin.

Everything is blurry. The room is spinning. The figures of everyone are unclear shapes, egg-like and moving constantly. He blinks rapidly, tries to clear his vision, but nothing changes. It’s getting foggier. The blackness is lapping at the edge of the picture, reaching its thin talons through and covering everything it touches with dark.

Lucas is kneeling in front of Michael and saying something, but it all sounds like gibberish. Like a foreign language. Like he was dropped down in this house as an exchange student from Siberia while everyone knows him as Alex Gaskarth. Everyone knows him as Alex Gaskarth but he doesn’t _feel like_ Alex Gaskarth it feels wrong everything feels wrong he shouldn’t be here it’s wrong he’s not supposed to be in this why is he here what’s going on why can’t he get out whywhywhy.

His arm hurts everything hurts the world feels too big too much he’s trying to carry all of it everything is so heavy why is this happening to him why is he here what’s going on it feels so blurry it’s all mixing together what is this what’s going on what’s happening to him

 _What’shappeningtohim_.

“Lex? Hey, you wanna go back upstairs and sleep?” Jack’s voice sounds distant. It’s like he’s in another room. He sounds far away. Alex can barely hear him. He blinks, tries to focus his hazy gaze on Jack’s form. Three Jacks are swimming in front of his eyes. He doesn’t know which one is the real one. 

His legs listen when he tells himself to stand. He swallows. _Almost there_. There’s an arm around his waist that tightens with the tiny step they take forward. He wobbles. The world is tilting. He feels like it just turned on its side and his body is moving to catch up. 

“Whoa, Lex.”

He can’t see everything feels light and heavy he’s floating he’s falling it’s all a mess everything is a mess he can’t see he can’t feel he doesn’t know what’s happening he doesn’t know what’s going on he doesn’t know why-

“You okay love?”

“Mmph,” he gets out. He feels the pressure, the grip around his chest and torso, and bats weakly at the arm. “Urgh…” 

“Alex?”

His stomach is climbing up his esophagus. Everything is spinning he’s dizzy the liquid feels thick he’s gonna puke he’s gonna pass out he can’t see he can’t feel what’s going on.

“Alex!” 

_He’sfallingnononowhat’sgoingonwhyisthishappeninghecan’tseenothingfeelsrighthesgoingtothrowupwhywhywhy_.

“ _Alex_?”

_Whatshappeningtohimwhatshappeningtohimwhatshappeningtohim_

_What’s happening to him_.

…

The waiting room is silent.

He lifts his head and looks around, keeps his fingers in Frank’s hair and begins to tangle them through it. 

They all insisted on coming, even Awsten – to Jordan and Quinn’s chagrin _he’s my brother. I’m coming with you_. – and they’re all gathered in the waiting room. No one’s talking. There aren’t even the usual whispers, Vic’s mouth pressed against Kellin’s ear or Ashton and Calum’s loud kisses. 

And now they’re all sitting in this big ass group in the waiting room – god, they must look so fuckin’ weird to strangers – they’re red eyes and occasional whimpers, tightly squeezed hands and long kisses pressed against foreheads. They’re warm and loving and overly-affectionate for all the wrong reasons.

Quinn is sitting in Jordan’s lap and Awsten is curled up in Geoff’s chest and Frank’s head is buried in his and Calum has his head in Ashton’s lap and Pete and Patrick’s hands are joined so tight it looks like superglue and Brendon and Michael are talking quietly together and Vic’s head is buried in the crook of Kellin’s neck. 

“How much longer is this gonna fuckin’ _take_?”

He takes a breath and shifts his gaze over to Jack. He’s pacing back and forth between the rows of chairs, hands buried in his hair, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes are red and his cheeks are swollen. 

“They’re checking him out, Jacko.” Quinn stands and takes a step forward to meet him in the middle. She grabs his wrists and keeps a hold on them despite his attempts to yank his hands away. “Sit down love. It’s gonna be a while. But he’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“You don’t know that.” Jack’s voice breaks. “God, I knew he wasn’t okay! I should’ve just.” He cuts himself off abruptly. The next thing that comes out of his mouth is a sob. “He was puking I knew it wasn’t the meds I knew something was wrong I _knew_ …” His knees hit the floor and he hunches over into a ball, curls in on himself and lets out another shuddering sob.

Being in the group home as long as he has has taken his heart and split it into seventeen. It’s not one whole heart anymore. It’s seventeen cracked, dented, damaged pieces, all fitting beautifully broken together. Some are more destroyed than others. Some are moments away from dust. 

But as of right now, they are holding. Holding together, staying put, clinging onto each other. They’re near falling off a cliff, hands pressed together, squeezing, arms intertwined, gripping, feet planned firmly on the ground, holding. They’re falling off a cliff, creating a seventeen-person long line that ends with Alex, squeezing his fingers and gripping his hand and holding onto the part of his body they can, because the world below him is an abyss of dark and jagged and foreign and _consuming_.

They are broken, but they are holding.

They were holding.

He doesn’t know if they can, anymore.

…

“’Trick?”

He swallows hard and turns his head to meet Pete’s gaze. “Hm?”

Pete’s eyes are shiny and he’s biting his lip. “I know you’re mad at me still and that’s okay but I love you so much and I can’t lose you and I just keep thinkin’ ‘bout you passing out the way Alex did and my heart starts racing and I feel like I’m gonna throw up so just please-”

He reaches over and pulls Pete into a hug, buries his face in his shoulder and intones a heavy breath. Pete is full-on crying. The sleeve of his shirt is dampening more and more by the second. His body is shaking with sobs. “I love you. I’m sorry ‘ve been such an ass. M’just.” He pauses and begins to rub Pete’s back. “I dunno.”

“I want to ta be okay,” Pete breathes. He lifts his head and reaches out to cup Patrick’s cheek. Patrick grimaces _pudgyfatdonttouch_ and lifts his head to grab Pete’s and intertwine their fingers, keep his hands away from his flabby, fatty cheeks and pudgy double chin. 

“I’m okay.” He brings their joined hands to his lips. “I promise. You don’t havta worry about me anymore.”

Pete gives a tearful chuckle. “You’re so stupid.” 

Patrick opens his mouth to answer, but Pete plows on, “m’never gonna stop worrying ‘bout you. Love you. You’re the love of my life, Patrick. I hope you know that.”

The sick feeling that’s been making its home in his stomach, planting roots and stretching out, making itself comfortable, grows another flower. He swallows thickly. The lump in his throat throbs. “I love you too.”

…

He can see.

That’s the first thing he notices. 

His vision isn’t blurry anymore. He doesn’t feel all dizzy and sick and fuzzy. He blinks a few times and looks around the room. 

The walls are white. The bed is uncomfortable. The gown is paper-thin. The smell is putrid. 

He reaches up to rub at his face and winces. His arm is connected to a tube. There’s tape over where the needle was inserted. He follows it, up to the long pole and IV bag half-full of fluid. There’s a large bandage covering his arm, white with gauze in the middle and clear on the end. 

“Fuck.” The word feels like sandpaper on his tongue. His mouth is so dry. He swallows. The saliva is wettening but hardly moisturizing. The taste in his mouth is vile, like he hasn’t swallowed in so long and everything has collected into a ball and forced itself down his throat at once. 

“Lex?” He freezes. His heart starts to beat faster as he looks up. “You awake?”

“Jay…” He reaches for Jack, shifts over toward the IV pole to make room for him. 

Jack just stares at him. 

He looks like he’s been through a war and back. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are red. His hair is sticking up in clumps. He looks paler than usual – the red stands out so much more against his ashen skin. “Jack?”

“Your cuts are infected,” Jack says slowly. “Six of them. They’re swollen and red and pus is fucking coming out of them. That’s why you’ve been puking and feeling all off or whatever. It’s not the meds. Your cuts are fucking infected, Alex.”

Jack’s voice is hard. His eyes are dark. Alex’s heart is racing, faster than ever. His hands are starting to shake. He can feel the ice breaking down his back but being swallowed by the flames cold and hot at the same time his chest is getting tighter someone wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his heart and is slowly tightening it tightertightertighter nonono.

“W-Why are you m-mad at me?”

Jack sighs. “I’m not. I guess I’m just. Frustrated? Confused? Why the fuck didn’t you _come_ to me, Lex? Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

He looks down at his lap. With the arm that isn’t connected to the IV, he digs his nails into his palm, harder, harder, harder, until he bites his lip and breaks the skin and lets out a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

Jack doesn’t say anything after that. 

He swallows again. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, doesn’t want to piss Jack off even more, doesn’t want to feel like the sparkly pink bubble they’ve been living in for the past few months is popping and splattering and coating his insides with goo, hardening and cracking and turning black and dull. 

“Can you at least _look_ at me?” The words feel too big for his tongue. He stumbles around them awkwardly, as much as he tries not to. Fuck.

Jack shakes his head. “I just…I don’t get it, Lex. I’ve been there for you. _All_ I’ve been, is _there_ , for you. Why couldn’t you have just _talked_ to me? I would’ve _helped_ you.”

“I don’t- I just-” He can’t stop shaking. “I don’t know. I guess I just. Didn’t wanna be a burden? I know I’ve been a lot lately, with everything goin’ on…”

“Didn’t wanna be a burden,” Jack repeats. “That’s great. Perfect, actually. You didn’t wanna be a burden so you’re off cutting your arms up like hamburger meat, not cleaning them, not taking care of yourself, not doing _anything_ , and you pass out and end up in the fucking _hospital_. What do ya call that, Alex? Huh? Is that not ‘being a burden’? Do you have any idea what the hell you just put me through?”

“Jack…” Tears are starting to collect in his eyes. He blinks, breaks the barrier, and they all spill over, running in trails down his cheeks and clinging to his neck. “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“Jack, wha- I-” His heart is beating so fast his hands are shaking his skin is on fire the bugs crawling underneath are stinging it feels cold and hot at the same time his chest is tight everything feels too big too much to fast what the hell just happened whywhywhy.

Jack gets to his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I think we need a break, Alex. _I_ need a break. I’m sorry.”

And then he turns and walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? that was a great way to come back lmao I'm proud of myself. but really though, if jack seems out of character, wait. you know me. it's gonna be explained. he's doing this for a reason. you'll understand in due time, I promise. next chapter, alex gets out of the hospital, talks to quinn/jordan/lucas, talks to rian, we've got more therapy, and I'll try to squeeze in a ryden scene since we haven't really caught up with them yet. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (and once again I'm sososo sorry about the wait)
> 
> ((oh yeah and I tweet about tdiu quite a bit so if you want updates/possibly tiny hints at chapters, follow me @theghostofafi you'll get my garbage tweets and me talking about how much I love awsten but. yeah. follow me lmao alright that's it I'm really done now bye))


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told y'all I'd never keep you waiting that long again 
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self-harm

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“I don’t think that’s-”

“I am going to fucking _murder_ him.” 

Alex forces down another swallow. Pressing against the lump in his throat sends a wave of hot tears to his eyes. They burn at the corners, sparking pain as he blinks them away. He feels them on his lashes and reaches up to brush his fingers across his eyelids. It’s one of those fizzy drinks, overwhelming with carbonation at first and slowly dying away to a dull ache that resides behind his eyes and presses against his skull. 

“Guys.” He turns his head into Awsten’s shoulder. His nose hits the edge of Awsten’s collarbone and sinks slightly. He moves his head back the tiniest bit and bites his lip.

The skin around Awsten’s shoulders is so sunken in. His arm is flexed, so the sight of his collarbones is not unusual, but they’re so prominent. The fat that should be there still _exists_ , but there’s not very much of it at all. “That’s not what he needs to hear. He loves him.”

“He _broke_ up with him!”

“So?”

“Jack doesn’t get ta get away with this.”

“He _won’t_!”

“He will if we don’t fuckin _do something_!”

Alex inhales. He hasn’t said the words out loud yet. He can’t. Every time he tries to, the sob that follows swallows up the rest of the words and creates a barrier in his throat. It hurts every time the words come barreling up to the gate, stings when they press against the confines of his body, feels like one side of his body is being ripped from the other when they permeate the wall, shove their sticks into it and catapult over. 

“All of you need to stop.” That’s Quinn’s voice. “Awsten’s right.”

“Alex, love, are you ready to go?”

A hand brushes through his hair. He shivers at the touch and pushes his head back into Awsten’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, he squirms until he reaches the crook of Awsten’s neck and lets a few tears slip. He tightens his arm around Awsten’s waist and grits his teeth to hold back the entire sob.

“Ow, fuck.” 

“Shit.”

“Sweetheart, hey, you can’t hug him that hard, remember? His ribs are still really sore. Here, why don’t we just-”

“Al?”

His heart seems to skip a beat. He pushes away from Awsten and turns his head to the doorway. More tears are welling up in his eyes and clouding his vision, blurring it and distorting the shapes that stand in front of him, but the voice. He knows the voice. He’d know the voice anywhere.

He climbs off the bed and takes a couple steps to the exit. Liquid is streaming down his cheeks and clinging to his neck. He walks forward blindly, crashes into another body, into a chest that he buries himself in, inhales and sobs and wraps his arms around, _cries_.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Rian says. “You’re gonna be okay, Al. I’m here now.”

…

“Shhh. Breathe. Take another deep breath. You’re okay.”

He inhales shakily, coughs around the air and chokes, feels the ignition in his chest. Someone threw another log into the dying fire and it’s blossoming back up again, sending sparks of pain throughout his entire body. “C-Can’t…”

“Yeah you can.” Rian presses the circles into his back and brings his other arm up to his shoulders. He feels the squeeze, turns his head to keep it in the crook of Rian’s neck, and breathes out again. He presses his cheek against the warmed skin, traps it in before it goes cool, and exhales. “You’re already doing it. See? You’re doin’ so well, Al. M’so proud of you.”

“’Cause I can breathe like a normal person?” He squeezes Rian’s waist as punctuation, bites his lip _you’re not gonna start crying again you’re not gonna be a fucking baby stop it stop it stop it_.

Rian pushes against his chest and grabs his chin. He has no choice but to look into his eyes, pressing further into his lip. He breaks the skin easily, reopening the patch he’s been chewing on for the past few weeks. He closes his eyes, tilts his head forward slightly and leans into the wave of pain, lets the crest wash over him and curl up around him like a warm blanket. 

He breathes.

“…strongest person I know,” Rian is saying. “Because you’d usually be curled up with a blade by now, Alex. And you’re not.”

The bandages on his arms are thick. They wrapped a layer of gauze up his entire arm, past the infected cuts, over the healing, fresh ones as well, and then covered the whole thing with medical tape. He’s not allowed to remove it yet. He has no way of hiding it. They’ll freak out.

And he’s caused enough drama for one lifetime. 

“You’re doing well, Al,” he continues. “You deserve to celebrate that. I don’t know what Jack’s problem is or why he’s being such a dick but Zack said he’d talk to him. We’ll figure this out.”

“He doesn’t want me.” He forces himself to keep his voice steady. His hands are shaking so badly. He can’t keep his body still as he shifts back down to lean against Rian. It’s shaking everything is shaking he can’t stop it he can’t calm down his heart is starting to race again he doesn’t want this nonono stop it stop it stopstopstop _please_.

“Alex…”

“He doesn’t!” He bites the words and squeezes his eyes shut, bats against Rian’s hand when he reaches for him again. It’s starting to get harder to breathe someone wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his heart and keeps squeezingsqueezingsqueezing it’s so tight everything’s tight why does this feel so heavy why does this keep happening to him. “I’m a burden. He said it himself.” 

Rian says something. He hears the sound of him talking. He feels his chest rumbling against him. 

None of it registers he’s somewhere else he can’t think he can’t see he can’t breathe nothing is working right everything is wrong wrongwrongwrong he’s wrong it hurts why is this happening to him why can’t he just be _normal_ for once why does he have to be like this this is why Jack’s done dealing with him this is why he thinks he’s a burden he’s too much for him too much toomuchtoomuchtoofuckingmuch.

_Useless worthless piece of shit burden mess._

_Useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden useless burden_.

…

“Holy shit. He’s okay though, right?”

“Yeah,” Brendon exhales. He scoots up against the headboard to bury his nose in Ryan’s neck, breathes him in and presses his body again him, wraps his arms around Ryan’s waist and pulls, closer and closer and closer, until Ryan is laughing against his chest, lying on top of him. “Just sucks, though. Dunno what Jack was thinking.”

“People usually _aren’t_ thinking when they do things like that,” Ryan says. “Those two are like, fuckin’ married at this point. Jack’s out of his mind. Or going through a really bad episode and when he comes to his senses he’s gonna freak.”

“He seemed pretty serious…”

“Maybe he made it look that way.” Ryan pecks his cheek. “But the way he and Alex are, just like. I dunno. Whenever I’m over they’re like, fuckin’ on top of each other. Alex is always sittin’ in his lap. They’re never not touching.”

“Yeah…” Brendon sighs. “This is gonna fuck ‘em up.” He turns his head to the side to look out Ryan’s window with a swallow. It feels like there’s cotton in his mouth. He doesn’t know why this happens, why he can be in the best mood ever, or even a semi-decent state, and then get sucker punched in the stomach. On okay days he’s an abyss of white, not the creamy and warm yellow like his good days, but pearlescent, pure, encompassing white. And then the drop of black falls into it and contaminates the entire mixture and white blurs to grey and it feels like his stomach is falling to his feet.

“You okay?” Ryan’s lips stay on his face this time. He moves his head back and Ryan captures him in a kiss, reaches down to cup his cheek. He smiles into it, closes his eyes and rolls them over onto their sides, wraps his arms around Ryan’s chest and pulls him as close as possible. 

He puts the force in, presses all of himself into it, squeezes out every ounce of energy he has into this cup, and pours it all over Ryan. 

And when they pull away Ryan is smiling at his kiss-bitten lips, slightly breathless. He keeps the smile on his face and goes in for another kiss. “Yeah, just…” He trails off with a sigh. “I dunno. S’weird.”

“Can I do anything?” Ryan strokes a finger down his cheek. He grabs his free hand and intertwines their fingers.

“Hold me.”

…

“I don’t wanna be here.”

“Do you _ever_?”

“Fuck you.”

He inhales heavily as he sits down. The sessions were switched around so he’s here with Michael, Jack, Awsten, and Brendon today instead of tomorrow. His heart is beating too fast and his hands are shaking he wasn’t ready for this he hasn’t had time to prepare it’s all happening at once and it’s too much he wants this to be over he can’t do it nonono.

Lucas sits down in the last chair and adjusts his beanie. “Hey guys. I know it’s been a hard couple days, with everything that happened, but the reason I asked your moms to change things around was because I wanted to give Alex a little bit of a break. He just got out of the hospital, he needs a some time to rest before we dive into everything. I hope that’s okay with all of you.”

He breathes in and lets it out slowly. _You’re okay you’re fine it’s going to be fine stop freaking out it’s only an hour and then you’re back with Gerard it’s going to be okay stop freaking out stop freaking out stop fucking freaking out_. 

“You guys know the drill,” Lucas continues. “Numbers, who wants to start?”

“7,” Brendon says. “Um. Not ‘cause of this. I was with Ry this morning and I started to feel kinda shitty for some reason?” He phrases it as a question. “I dunno why. But we cuddled for a while and I feel a little better.”

“That’s amazing, Brendon,” Lucas says. He smiles at him. “I’m so proud of you. Depression is random, and it can get really bad when you’re alone. Telling Ryan and letting him help you is a huge step. Be proud of yourself today. That’s a huge victory.”

He keeps his gaze up for long enough to see the grin on Brendon’s face before he pulls it back down to his shoes. 

Gerard’s been quiet. He’s not going distant again, not like last time – he shudders and wraps his arms around himself at the thought – but he’s not talking as much and he’s been writing a lot. Gerard’s always been a night owl, but he’s been waking up alone so many more nights than usual lately, seeing him at his desk scribbling in a notebook, no signs of coming to bed. 

_This isn’t like last time he’s not ignoring you again he loves you stop being paranoid he’s not cheating he’s not ignoring you you’re expecting too much stop stop it stop being a fucking baby-_

“Frank?”

He snaps his head up. They’re all looking at him, even Jack, with his red eyes and swollen cheeks. His heart is back to racing, speeding up even more. Hot cold hold cold it’s too much he can’t stop shaking why is he like this why is this happening why is his anxiety so bad why does he zone out so much whywhywhy. 

“U-Um,” he chokes out. “4.”

“Do you want to expand on that?”

“N-No.”

He swallows.

It stings.

He drops his head down and doesn’t look at anyone as the rest of the hour ticks by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. sorry. things aren't great. I know you're all very angry at jack, but I promise you'll find out more in the next chapter. more internal monologue than anything, but there's a bit of conversation between him and zack. quinn and jordan and lucas also talk to alex about what happened (I wanted to include the ryden lmao there was a shortage of it), and patrick's thoughts in the last chapter kinda...he's forced to confront a lot of things and none of them are good. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of self-harm, depression, and mentions of eating disorders.

It’s an ache.

It’s not as pronounced as it once was, not venomous arrows piercing his heart and cutting straight through and falling into a pit of fire, stoking it with every new one. It’s not as noticeable as it used to be. When it first appeared it was a prickle, a thorn in his side, digging deeper into his skin with every movement. It was a stinger he tried to pull at, but it was imbedded in his skin so tightly he only managed to push it in further.

It’s dull. It’s there but it’s constant now, a bubble that started in his chest and has grown to envelop his entire body. He’s floating in it, drifting through life with its filter over his eyes, trying to navigate around the mess it’s created in his chest. 

He knows they’re mad at him. He sees the looks on their faces and catches bits of conversation they have behind his back. Alex doesn’t wear damage well and it’s his knife digging into his back. 

His chest feels full. Oversaturated. Completely topped off to the brim, unable to hold anymore. It’s the weight dragging him down, sagging into the pit of his stomach, pressing down on the acid and sending it straight back up. Nothing is going down but everything is coming up.

Alex helps him eat. Even when they were fighting and in the worst place they’ve been – that no longer wins; this definitely beats it – he was the one who helped him at Thanksgiving. Alex doesn’t expect anything from him. He doesn’t have standards for his eating or a quota he wants him to fulfill. He wants him to eat but he never feels like he’s disappointing him if he doesn’t. 

He’s never felt that with anyone before. Every boyfriend he’s had in the past was expecting, hoping, _waiting_ , for him to come to his senses and kick his eating disorder and become a _person_ , rather than a problem. He was just a problem to them. He wasn’t a human being he was a problem he was _his_ problem they couldn’t handle it he was too much he’s always too much no one can handle it _your mom couldn’t even handle it no one can handle you you useless piece of shit_. 

Alex is different Alex doesn’t make him feel like he’s drowning Alex gets into the water and wades out to him, grabs his wrist and helps him start to swim, waits when he has to stop, when it’s all too much, stands there and smiles and _listens_ , doesn’t act like he knows his eating disorder rather than _him_. 

But Alex has problems too. He has things he doesn’t talk about, a past that was just dragged out, scars on his arms and stitches in his heart, murky waters in his head that even a well-built boat would sink in. Alex doesn’t talk about it, doesn’t tell him, doesn’t _say anything_. 

Alex didn’t say anything. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t understand. Why didn’t he say anything why didn’t he come to him why didn’t he trust him why didn’t he say anything why didn’t he say anything why didn’t he say anything.

He can’t breathe it all hurts they’re piling more onto his chest he feels too full like he’s just eaten a seven course meal and can’t purge he feels too full it’s too heavy too full he can’t do it why didn’t Alex come to him whydidn’thesayanythinghecan’tbreathenonono.

Alex is the best thing that’s ever happened to him he can’t lose him he can’t die what if he goes too deep what if the infection kills him what if he doesn’t die on purpose but dies anyway what if he loses him Alex is the best thing that’s ever happened to him he can’t do this _nonononono_.

“Jack? What the- _shit_.”

He picks his head up so fast, feels the twinge in his neck and pulls his lip in with his teeth. Hand on his chest, he tries to force in a breath, but comes up coughing, squeezing is eyes shut as the tears begin to burn.

“Hey, Jacky, it’s okay.” Zack climbs onto the bed next to him. He feels the arm snake around his waist and the hand begin to rub his back. He hunches forward. It feels like someone wrapped tape around his heart and is circling around, pulling it tighter and tighter and tighter _can’tbreathecan’tbreatheohgodohgodohgod_. 

Zack keeps whispering things in his ear and rubbing his back and shoulders but he can’t hear he can’t see he can’t breathe it’s too much it’s all too much everything is too fucking much why is this happening to him why can’t he be normal why can’t he fucking _breathe_ -

He turns his face into the crook of Zack’s neck and sobs, wraps his arms around Zack’s waist and squeezes as tightly as he can, chokes and cries and tries to breathe he can’t breathe it’s all coming so fast ohgodohgodohgod.

 _Why didn’t he say anything_.

…

“Alex?”

“Hey hun, can we talk to you for a sec?”

He rolls over onto his other side so he can see the doorway. Quinn, Jordan, and Lucas are standing there, cramming themselves into the small space. They’re wearing those fakeass sympathetic smiles – well, Jordan and Quinn are, Lucas’ seems a little more genuine – and he can see the softness in their eyes, the reassurance on their faces. 

He doesn’t want to talk to them. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He’s been in bed all day and he doesn’t want that to change, but he knows they won’t leave him alone unless he agrees. “Yeah…”

Lucas perches in his desk chair, while Jordan and Quinn join him on the bed. He scoots up the slightest bit, leans heavily against his pillows and tilts his head back. 

His body still feels heavy. It’s like he’s living with weights attached to his limbs, like the bed doesn’t exist and he’s trying to hold himself up with these rocks pulling in the opposite direction. It all feels thick, like there’s a molasses filter on everything and he’s trying to swim through it so he can clear his vision. It’s not working. None of it is working. 

“We wanted to give you some time…” Jordan says. She reaches for one of his hands and he lets her take it, picks his head back up the slightest bit and pushes his hand between her palms. She starts to rub her thumb against his skin in small, soft circles. “Let you process. And after everything…” He bites down on his lip and closes his eyes. “We just wanted to make sure you’re okay, babe. That’s all.”

“This is serious, Alex.” That’s Lucas. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Infections are so easy to get when you do this. You _need_ to be careful and clean everything really well. Believe me kid, I’ve been there. I never used to clean anything. I never wanted to. Spent a long time _wishing_ for infections. And when I got them it was the worst fuckin’ thing ever because I didn’t have parents that cared about me the way you do. I didn’t have therapy or meds or any kinda support. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be doing it because you have all these things but…this is dangerous, Alex. What you’re doing is really dangerous.”

“I, um…” He sits up a bit more, opens his eyes and tries to angle his back against the pillows in a way that’ll give him the most support. He feels like collapsing. Everything feels foggy, like he’s looking at the world through a lens of haze. “I didn’t mean to. I just. I don’t know why I thought I cleaned them I didn’t know-” He pauses as the breath hitches in his throat. His heart is racing. “I’m sorry…”

“Whoa, hey, no.” Quinn moves to his other side, turns to sit next to him and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, sweetheart. We understand.”

“The past couple months have been living hell for you,” Jordan agrees. “It’s okay. We’re just worried, that’s all. Everyone’s worried. You really scared us, hun.”

“We want to help you, kiddo,” Lucas adds. “In whatever way we can. Whatever we have to do, we’ll do it, okay? Just tell us what you need.”

He doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t know anything. His boyfriend just broke up with him and his arms hurt and the dreams are too much his head hurts everything hurts it’s so blurry he’s so tired it feels foggy and blurry it’s one huge mess he doesn’t want it he doesn’t want any of it this is a dream he wants to wake up he wants things to go back to normal he wants Jack back this is a dream he’s having a nightmare-

 _Thisisadreamthisisadreamthisisafuckingnightmare_.

The other shoe was always going to drop things can never be good for long his life never works out the way he wants it to the universe doesn’t care about him that much things are never good nothing is good he can’t be good he’s never fine he’s always waiting for something bad to happen it’s never good there’s always bad it’s always bad he’s always bad.

 _He’s never good_.

…

“When was the first time you guys said ‘I love you’?”

“What the fuck?”

“That came outta nowhere.”

“I was just tryna make conversation!” Ashton defends. He drops his voice down a couple of notches and smiles. “And I really wanna know.”

Geoff turns his head and presses his lips against Awsten’s temple. He looks at Awsten as he speaks but his words are directed at all of them, “six months? That right, love?”

“Yeah.” Awsten’s voice is softer than he’s used to hearing. He’s typically the loudest person in the room, expressing anything from distaste to delight with some sort of colorful language and weird accompaniment. It’s been different ever since the trial. “It was like, almost midnight, and we snuck out – moms still don’t know so if any of y’all say _anything_ –” He fixes them all with a mock glare. “We went to this park by, um-” He hesitates and moves his head from Geoff’s shoulder to his upper chest, lifting their joined hands and squeezing. “By my old house. And we watched the stars for a while and then Geoff turned to me and-”

“Aww…”

“That’s the cutest fuckin’ thing, jesus.”

Patrick stops listening. He swallows, thickly. The saliva forms a ball that travels slowly down his esophagus and into his stomach, rolls into the acid and just sits, mixes with the acid to form a knot of nausea. He swallows again, pushes more saliva down his throat and tries to inhale.

They’ve exchanged ‘I love yous’. He doesn’t remember a day he’s gone _without_ reminding Pete he loves him. Even when they’re fighting, he takes it upon himself to roll over and press his lips against Pete’s neck and breathe the words into his skin, press in the silent promise and hope it diffuses into Pete’s body. 

He remembers the words.

He remembers Pete saying he was the love of his life. 

He remembers thinking what that _should’ve_ felt like, the dichotomy between its intended reaction and what he was actually feeling. He remembers thinking he should’ve kissed Pete like he never had before, felt the warmth swell like a balloon in his chest, almost pop from the exuberance. Love is supposed to be all of those things. Warm and light and exciting and _free_. 

It’s supposed to be free.

It’s not supposed to press down on the nausea switch and send bile traveling up his throat – he’d already purged everything he’d eaten – feel like spiders are crawling on his neck and digging their legs into his skin, making their way inside and stretching out all over his bones. It’s not supposed to feel like the walls are getting closer he’s not supposed to feel trapped it’s not supposed to feel like this.

 _It’s not supposed to feel like this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? we're juggling a lot, right now. we've got this alex and jack thing (which I really hope you guys see a little of where jack's coming from at least. the hate on jack is A Lot right now and I really want y'all to go back and reread everything and try to figure out _why_ he's reacting like this), the luke thing, frerard issues, and this peterick thing (and ofc the others but their scenes aren't main plot...yet). next chapter goes back to luke. scene with him and michael, some insight from calum, more living room talk (alex and jack are forced to be in the same room as each other and it does not end well) the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - depression, anxiety, panic attacks, and mentions of blood (not self-harm).

“Holy shit.”

“Are you serious?”

Jordan squeezes Michael’s shoulders with a smile. “Hundred percent. His mom called last night and asked if we could take him for the day.”

“She said he hasn’t been eating.” Quinn’s voice is soft. “And he’s been really down for the past few weeks. They’re…they’re getting fed up. I could hear it in her voice.”

“Why is that a good thing?” He lifts his head at Calum’s voice and moves his hand from the small of his back to curl his fingers around Calum’s waist. “He’s not fuckin’ eating and you’re smiling about it? What the fuck?”

“His parents are getting fed up.” He pulls Calum closer into him, presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes. “It means they’re gonna be more likely ta let him come back when we go ta trial.”

Calum is stiff against him. His body is rigid. His muscles are tense. Ashton lifts his other arm to wrap across Calum’s front, pulls him into a hug, and Calum just stands there, dead weight in his arms.

He sighs. It’s been like this for a couple days now. Calum won’t talk to him. He lets him hold him at night and seems to be listening when he talks, but the words are going in one ear and out the other. He’s not hearing him. His eyes are dark and he feels far away, like his body is here but his mind is on another plane of existence, somewhere achromic and misty, surrounded by fog that wraps around him and sneaks into his skull, draws out the shadows and presses them against his mouth. Silence.

“Exactly,” Jordan says. “They might get so tired of dealing with it that they just let him come back. That’s what we want.”

He glances over to catch the look on Michael’s face, and he can’t help but smile. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen Michael smile that big. His face looks like it hurts from how wide he’s grinning. The smile is brilliant. Natural. Michael’s practically glowing. It’s like someone injected a dose of the sun into his veins, going straight to his heart and eclipsing the entire muscle. 

Ashton looks back at Calum when he feels him move, try and get out of his grip, but the sound of the front door opening makes them both freeze. He turns his head to watch Michael almost trip in his haste to swing it open. He doesn’t see anything for a good few minutes after that, because Michael latches onto to Luke and hugs so tight, covers him with his body, shields him from sight. 

“Come in guys,” Quinn says from behind. She tugs on the back of Michael’s shirt. “It’s cold out.”

Michael doesn’t let go of Luke. He picks him up and spins him around, laughing all the while. Luke’s smiling too. Ashton locks gazes with Gerard and Jack and Vic, gets little nods and gives one himself, the silent agreement to give Michael his moment – or, well, a lot longer than a moment – with Luke. They’ve all missed him – Ashton wants to yank him out of Michael’s arms and give him the longest hug in existence – but Michael hasn’t been this happy in weeks. He deserves every moment they have together.

He jumps as he’s jolted back into reality, as Calum wrenches himself from his grip and disappears into the house, footsteps slapping on the wooden floor as he breaks out into a run.

…

“I. Missed. You. So. Much.”

He punctuates every word with a kiss to a different part of Luke’s face, ending on his lips. That’s the one that lasts the longest. Luke wraps his arms around his neck and Michael smiles into it, pulls him onto his lap so Luke’s legs slot around his waist, presses their foreheads together when they finally break for air. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Luke ends in a giggle. His cheeks are pink and his lips are slightly swollen. He smiles and leans in to peck Michael’s lips once more. “It’s so lonely without you. I hate sleeping alone.”

“I go bother Ash and Cal every night,” he confesses. He bites his lip and brushes his lips against Luke’s cheek. “And sometimes I still don’t sleep ‘cause m’up worryin’ about you all night.”

“Mikey-”

“Moms said you’re not eating,” Michael rushes to add. His heart feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it and all the pieces are hanging in mid-air, dropping to the ground one by one as he looks Luke up and down. 

He’s always been thin, with legs the size of lima beans and an elongated torso, he stands a couple inches above Michael. His chin is narrow and his legs are lean. He’s had a ridiculously fast metabolism since he was a kid. But something looks different.

His face, although usually not pudgy or chubby by any means, looks particularly bony. His cheekbones have never looked this prominent. Their bodies are pressed so close that Michael can feel the hollow of his hips, the bones jutting out sharply. He’s paler than usual.

Someone turned the sledgehammer into a wrecking ball and it’s slamming into his chest, destroying every scaffold that’s built up. The pain blossoms in tendrils, stretches out to the furthest parts of his body and stings. This is his worst nightmare and it is coming true and it feels like everything inside of him is collapsing into a pile of debris at his feet, building up, higher and higher, suffocating.

“I’m not starving myself,” Luke says quietly. “I promise I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.” He lifts Michael’s chin and Michael blinks at him, reaches forward to put a hand on his cheek. Luke visibly swallows and looks down at their bodies. “I just…some days it’s really hard to get out of bed. I don’t wanna do it anymore. I don’t wanna do _this_ anymore.”

“Live?” He breathes the word and hears it leave his lips, but it doesn’t register. This can’t be happening what the fuck is going on how did this happen how did they get here they were happy they were happy they were so happy and now _nonononono_ fuck.

Luke squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m trying. I’m really trying.” The words sound clenched. Strained. He can hear the pain in them. “It’s just so hard.”

…

He wants to put his fist through a wall. 

It’s everywhere. It feels like there are razors underneath his skin and they’re poking through the surface, cutting and stinging and tearing through his body to reach the top layer. He feels it, he sees the redredred streaming down his arms and legs and collecting into a pool on the ground. It feels like he’s fallen victim to a tidal wave and now he’s being dragged on for the ride as it gets stronger and stronger and stronger.

His chest feels so tight everything is so hot it’s everywhere he can’t see he can’t breathe he wants to slam his body to the ground punch a hole in concrete jump out a window he wants to smash and break it’s red it’s hot it’s everywhere it won’t stop he can’t see it won’t stop.

It’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fucking fair Luke doesn’t deserve that Luke shouldn’t be there it should’ve been him Luke should’ve stayed he should’ve gone back Luke should’ve stayed why didn’t he stay why did he go he doesn’t deserve this _Michael_ doesn’t deserve this it’s wrong it’s all wrong he can’t breathe it hurts it hurts it hurts he’s gonna die why is this happening what’s going on why.

He grabs at the wall and tries to steady himself, puts a hand on his chest and presses inward, tries to diffuse the bomb, explode it, because he can deal with the pain he can deal with the carnage he can handle it but this is too much it’s white and red everything is red he wants to put his fist in a wall slam into it with a wrecking ball rip tear punch _kill_.

He wants to kill.

They deserve to be dead how the fuck could they do that to him Luke doesn’t deserve this it should’ve been him he should be back there it wasn’t that bad he didn’t have it that bad Luke had it worse how did he go how did he stay how did this happen it feels like a dream he should get what he deserves he should go back he needs to go back red white hot red white hot red white hot. 

It’s a wave it’s a tsunami it’s everything happening all at once crashing into him dripping into his eyes stinging burning he can’t see he can’t feel nothing is happening nothing is okay what’s going on he wants it to stop everything’s moving he’s so dizzy why is this happening to him what’s going on.

Why is this happening to him.

What’s going on.

Red white hot.

He wants to kill.

…

“I missed this.”

He settles against the couch, moves his body up slightly to rest his head in the hollow between Michael’s neck and the couch cushion. Michael winces and shifts beneath him, tightening his arm around his waist. 

“Stop moving,” Michael hisses in his ear. “We can’t do this right now.”

“Are you- oh my _god_ ,” he replies. He looks down at their crotches with a giggle. “Are you really-”

“Shut _up_.”

“Fuck!”

“Fuck yeah.”

“What?”

“I lost a-fucking- _gain_!”

He looks over to the other couches, where Jack and Geoff – to his surprise, with Awsten sitting on his lap and playing with the hem of his shirt – are playing Mario Kart. Jack hasn’t won a match in over an hour. Geoff keeps coming in first and the most Jack’s ended up in is fourth. 

“Face it,” Geoff says with a smirk. “I’m just better than you.”

“No you’re fuckin’ not.”

“Tell that to the ten races.”

“So I’m havin’ a bad day, whatever. I’m usually so good at this.”

“What, at being an asshole?”

Luke feels his heart jump in his chest. It seems like the entire room freezes at that. Alex is sitting off to the side by himself, picking at his cuticles. His eyes are red and his hair is a mess. He’s wearing a hoodie with rips in the collar and sweatpants that look like they’re falling off his waist.

He knows they broke up – or they’re on a break, or whatever, he’s not completely up to date on this week’s drama – but he didn’t realize how bad things were. Alex is glaring at Jack, although it looks less like a glare and more like pain. His eyes are glassy and his lip is starting to quiver.

“Lex, fuck, don’t do this.” Jack holds his hands up in surrender. “Not now, please.”

“You don’t even care, do you?” Alex’s voice breaks. He stumbles to his feet, grips the mantelpiece to keep his balance, and stares at Jack. “You never fucking cared about me.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ _dare_ say that,” Jack growls. “It’s a lie and you know it.”

“Why did you wanna date me in the first place?” Alex chokes out. “If I’m so fucked up.”

Jack breathes out a heavy sigh. Luke can hear it from across the room. Everyone is staring at them, watching the scene unfold, but no one is saying anything. He doesn’t know what _to_ say. It’s tense. Completely silent, except for Alex’s heavy breathing and the scathing words he and Jack are spitting at each other. “It’s not that you’re fucked up, Lex, it’s just…it’s complicated, okay? I need some time. I need to think.”

“About what?” Alex replies. “Whether being with me is worth all my shit? How much you wanna sacrifice? Is this all some fuckin _game_ to you?”

“Alex, I-”

“I don’t know why I tried so hard to get you in the first place.”

The words are punctuated by a choked sob, and then Alex is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um. yeah. yell at me if you want lmao but know everything will eventually be fixed (one way or another)
> 
> next chapter is the aftermath of this for alex, therapy for jack (which ends very badly if you know what I mean), an inside look into gerard's head and what he's fucked up over, and if I can fit it, some cute gawsten to balance out all this angst. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friendly reminder that I'm a full-time college student (with my own fair share of mental health issues to deal with) and not a writing machine and I'd appreciate not being made to feel like that
> 
> trigger warnings - self-harm, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of suicide, and depression

The breath is jagged.

It comes as a knife, cutting up his throat and sending out pinpricks of pain as he swallows it down. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to hold the breath in, tries to hold the sob in, but it tears up his esophagus and out of his throat in one motion. He reaches for his neck. It feels like he’s on fire, like in the cartoons. Someone puts an active bomb in a certain spot and the thread slowly burns up, until it can do is detonate. It sparks and fires and sends out more arrows of pain until the very last second, until the explosion that blows everything to shreds. 

He grips the wall, feels his fingers hit the siding of the wall and curls them around the doorframe. He tilts his head against it, keeps his eyes closed and tries to inhale again. The breath sends more pain down his throat but it comes, loosens the knots his chest is tangled in slightly. _Breathe. You’re fine. Stop panicking. You have nothing to panic about, you useless piece of shit. Stop_ fucking _panicking_. 

It’s a few more moments before he finds the strength to push himself off the wall. He stumbles into his bedroom blindly, almost trips over his own feet and wobbles dangerously for a few seconds, tries to regain his balance without falling over. He finally makes it to his bed and collapses, buries his face in the pillows and sobs.

It’s so much. Everywhere, all the time. It follows him wherever he goes. He can’t get a break, doesn’t _deserve_ a break. The past few days are playing on repeat in his head and it won’t stop. They’re in a simulation and whoever’s playing god for him is clearly having a very bad few days.

He may’ve lost Jack forever. Jack thinks he’s a burden. Jack doesn’t want to put up with him. Jack doesn’t want to put up with him no one wants to put up with him he’s a burden. Jack was mad at him he put him through hell he puts everyone through hell his existence is hell no wonder Jack broke up with him why wouldn’t he who would want him who would want this fucked up mess who would want to deal with him and his problems for the rest of their life who would want him who would want him who would- 

His heart is racing. His hands are shaking so badly. It feels like everything is moving, like the world is shoved up in one of those glass balls you turn and watch glitter move from side to side. Someone keeps turning the ball, sending him on the worst rollercoaster ride ever, and he can’t get off. He’s nauseous it feels like everything is coming up his throat he wants this to stop it’s too much it hurts too bad he can’t stop panicking he can’t start breathing he can’t do anything it’s all too much. 

He wants Jack Jack is the only person who’s ever been able to help with his anxiety Jack’s hugs Jack’s kisses Jack’s cuddles he wants to curl into Jack’s body and hide until he feels better he wants Jack _you’re like this because of Jack he wants Jack you’re like this because of Jack_ he wants Jack-

 _It’s Jack’s fault you’re like this_.

“N-no,” he forces out. “S-Stop.” _Stop it shut up it’s not Jack’s fault it’s my fault it’s all my fault I’m the burden I’m the burden I’mtheburden._

_I want Jack please I can’t do this I need him please I want him I don’t care anymore Jack please Jack I’m sorry I-_

It won’t stop he can’t breathe his chest is so tight he’s nauseous everything is spinning it’s going so fast he can’t move he can’t breathe why won’t it stop it needs to stop he needs to stop he can’t do this- 

He sits up to more dizziness. The room jerks-

And then it starts to spin again. He wobbles on his feet as he stands, collapses to his knees in front of his nightstand and clumsily pulls open the drawer. He grapples for a few seconds. It takes a few tries before he’s able to grasp the metal in his hands. 

He looks down at the bandages around his arms. They’re wrapped tightly, layers of gauze covered in medical tape that start at the base of his wrists and continue upward. _They’ll find out they’ll kill you Jack was right to break up with you why are you doing this why are you such a useless piece of shit why can’t you talk about your problems like a normal person why are you so fucking anxious all the time why can’t you just be normal this is why Jack doesn’t want you anymore this is why_.

He turns, moves over to the full-length mirror, and tugs the waistband of his sweats down. His hipbone is poking out slightly, separating his thigh and stomach. He traces finger against the junction and moves the band further downward, exposing more of his thigh. 

Jack’s gone. He isn’t coming back. He’s a burden and he fucked everything up and he lost the best thing that’s ever happened to him and this is his life now. 

He has to deal with it.

This is the only way he knows how.

He presses the fingers of his other hand against the skin, holding it taut, and sinks the metal in.

 _This is the only way he knows how_.

…

Awsten is fading.

His smile is wavering on his face. The edges look tight and plastered. His eyes are trained on his lap. One of his hands moves to his abdomen. Geoff watches him take a breath in, watches him press on his stomach, watches him scrunch up his eyes and pull his face into a wince.

It only lasts a second, and he inserts himself right back into the conversation, smiles at something Kellin said and starts to reply. His grip on his waist gets tighter and tighter, until he’s clenching the fabric tightly in his fist. 

He’s been doing better. It’s only been a little over two weeks since his surgery, and he’s doing a lot better. The broken ribs have exacerbated everything and put him in more pain than he should be, at this point in recovery, but he’s handling it really well. 

He’s having nightmares and panic attacks and he’s still so shaky and it tugs at Geoff’s heartstrings. Every time Awsten grips his arm when he’s about to leave a room, speaks in that small, soft voice and asks where he’s going, how long he’s going to be, when he’s coming back…every time sends a new knife into his heart, cuts off another piece and throws it over the ledge. He’s down to practically nothing. His heart belongs to Awsten and it feels like a new piece gets ripped off every day, tossed to the ground; they shatter and bounce back up to pierce his skin, cut and tear and _sting_.

He wishes he could do more. Everyone keeps telling him this will run its course eventually, the more time passes the better Awsten will get, to sit back and let it go and hold him a little tighter and breathe promises against his skin to the point he believes it, but it doesn’t seem to be working. The dreams are still coming and the shaking isn’t stopping. Everything just keeps _going_. There’s no break from trauma. The hole it’s creating is getting bigger. The child with their hand in the paper hole is tearing gleefully, unbeknownst to what they’re even ripping apart.

He stops. 

He stops and blinks furiously, refocuses his vision and looks at Awsten.

Awsten, whose smile is gone. Awsten, whose eyes are starting to fill with tears. Awsten, who just let out the tiniest whimper of pain.

That’s it.

He rises to his feet and moves across the room quickly. He doesn’t say a word, just slips an arm behind Awsten’s back and slides the other under his knees. He bends and lifts in one motion. Awsten goes easily into his arms, sliding his own around his neck. “We’re gonna go nap for a bit,” he says in explanation, to Kellin and Vic’s expectant faces. They send him smiles. Vic wraps an arm around Kellin’s shoulders and drags him against his body. The sound of Kellin laughing is the last thing Geoff hears, as he carries Awsten out of the room and starts up the stairs.

“Thank you,” Awsten whispers. “I…dunno why it’s still hurting but it hurts. A lot.”

“Your ribs are still broken, sunshine,” Geoff answers. He stops partway up to the top of the stairs, turns to kiss the side of Awsten’s head. “It’s gonna hurt for a while. That’s why you needa take breaks.”

“A nap sounds good,” Awsten’s voice is so soft. “Just want you.”

He can’t help but smile. It stays on his face as he continues walking. Awsten is so soft and so delicate and so _warm_ , in his arms. Holding him feels like sunshine, like getting the experience of holding the sun in his arms. Awsten bleeds it and Geoff wants to stay intoxicated off that. He feels that warmth circle around him and settle into his bones, fill up every chip and crack his uncle created. 

It makes him feel whole. _Awsten_ makes him feel whole.

“I love you,” he murmurs. He stops at the edge of his bed and shifts Awsten in his arms. Awsten winds his legs around his torso and he moves his arms under his butt. When they press their lips together, Geoff turns and takes a few steps forward so Awsten has the support of the wall. “I love you so much, sunshine.”

“I love you too,” Awsten replies. He reaches out to up Geoff’s cheek and kiss him, and then settles another kiss on his nose. “Can we nap now?”

Geoff kisses him again.

And later, when Awsten is curled up and hidden in his chest, tilting his head up to peck his lips every few minutes, Geoff lets out another heavy breath. He can’t stop smiling.

 _Sunshine_.

…

Jack’s hands are shaking.

He can’t look up and his heart is beating too fast and his hands are shaking. He bites down on his lip; hard enough to break the skin and taste the copper, but even that isn’t making it stop. It won’t stop.

He can’t get that image of Alex out of his head.

Yesterday, in the game room, blood vessels broken in his eyes, hair all over the place, tears on his cheeks, voice completely wrecked from crying – it’s tattooed over his brain, stretching out to every part of the surface, eclipsing the entire organ. He can’t get away from it. He can’t escape it. He can’t stop seeing Alex’s face and feeling his heart physically snap away from its suspension in his chest and descend until there was nowhere to go, until it hit the ground and shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. 

_You did that to him_. 

_It’s your fault you did that he’s a mess he looks like shit he’s on the verge of a breakdown and it’s all your fault if you hadn’t been such a fucking asshole what the fuck is wrong with you how could you do that to him what gave you the right he doesn’t deserve that he doesn’t deserve you who the fuck do you think you are what the fuck is wrong with you_.

He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. It won’t stop. It’s like the voice in his head is on a tape recorder and someone pressed an infinite repeat button. It just keeps going and going, a relentless rendition of how awful he is until he’s memorized and internalized so much that he wants to rip his skin off he wants to throw himself off a cliff he’s scratching at his body it won’t go away it won’t stop he needs it to stop why won’t it stop-

“Jack? Kid, hey, you okay?”

“W-What?” He forces out. He blinks rapidly. His vision won’t focus it’s blurry he can’t see what’s going on why won’t it focus why isn’t anything happening what’s going on why won’t this stop he needs it to stop.

He feels pressure on his back. It moves from one side to the other. Someone’s talking but he can’t understand them. He can’t understand anything. It won’t stop why won’t it stop he needs it to stop stopstopstop-

“Deep breaths, kiddo. C’mon, you’re okay. I need you to try and breathe with me.” He barely registers the words, blinks furiously and tries to look up at Lucas. He inhales raggedly and tries to hold it, but the breath vanishes as quickly as it comes. 

_What the fuck is wrong with you piece of shit can’t even breathe right maybe you made the right decision Alex is better off without you everyone’s better off without you-_

“S-Stop,” he gasps. “P-Please. Shut u-up.”

“Keep breathing,” Lucas says. “You’re doing great. Just focus on that.”

It takes a couple minutes. He keeps coughing and every one adds to the knot building in his chest. It burns and aches and stings every time he moves. “I-I’m okay.”

Lucas’ hand stills on his back. He moves out of sight for what seems like only a few seconds, and then returns with a water bottle. Jack accepts it tiredly, unscrews the cap and presses it to his lips. “Good. Just keep breathing. You did so well.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I- we were supposed to talk about things…”

“You already told me what I needed to know, Jack,” Lucas says. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“What do you mean?” He takes another sip of water, leaning further back in his chair. It feels like the entire world was just placed on his shoulders. He’s shifting underneath the weight and trying to figure out how he’ll carry it all. “I just-”

“My goal for today was to see how bad everything was affecting you,” Lucas tells him. “I can’t help if I don’t know and sometimes it’s hard to put things like this in words. I wanna talk to you again, maybe tomorrow if you’re up for it. Now all I think you need to do is rest.”

“I’m not getting better,” he whispers. “And I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s so fucked up.”

“Hey.” Lucas puts a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”

He looks down at the water bottle, twists his fingers around the rim, and finally lifts his eyes to meet Lucas’. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” Lucas says. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? You and me, together. I’ll talk to you and I’ll talk to Alex and we’ll figure something out.”

“He hates me.”

“I don’t think he does,” Lucas replies. “I think you both have a lot you’re not talking to each other about. Communication is so important in relationships. That’s where things got fucked up. You both have a lot of feelings and you were trying to spare each other by not talking about them and it destroyed you from the inside. It was always going to happen, Jack. You couldn’t keep going on like that. Either of you.”

Jack swallows. The knot in his chest has moved behind his eyes. He wants to cry. “So…I have to talk to him?”

“Yeah, kiddo. You do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? I hope the long chapter made up for the wait. I know I said there'd be a gerard scene but this got really long and I didn't wanna make y'all wait much longer.
> 
> next chapter is the gerard scene, another living room conversation, patrick has a therapy session, and things reach...a breaking point, with luke. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. I took a break for a bit. If you follow me on tumblr, you know what's been going on. I'm done being made to feel like an emotionless robot when it comes to my work. I made a post on tumblr talking about everything. I'm not going to get into it now. But I think it would do you all good to remember that your favorite fanfic authors are more than that, and we deserve more credit than is given. Fanfiction is free. Remember that.
> 
> Trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of drug abuse, depression, and mentions of suicide.

“Gee!”

He doesn’t have time to respond, before a weight, a body crashes into him, wraps their arms around his neck and squeezes him tight. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in, winds his arms around Mikey’s waist and presses his nose into the top of his head. _Inhale. Exhale. You got him back. He’s back in your arms. He’s home. You got him back. You got him back. You got him back_.

He exhales, deflates the balloon in his chest and hopes it’ll stay that way, hopes the soupy fluid mixture of nerves and panic and anxiety all packaged into one won’t invade the space and refill the balloon past its popping point. “I missed you.”

“You saw me last week.” Mikey’s voice is light. It has a note of musicality to it; he almost sings the words while he fidgets, bounces against Gerard’s chest excitedly. “I have so much to tell you!”

He bites his lip and lets Mikey lead him along, tries to keep up with the mouth that’s moving as fast as his legs as he follows Mikey up to his room and straight onto his bed. Mikey points out a few things on his desk with a bright smile, “dads took me to this music store, and I met this girl who plays bass too, and she was amazing Gee, you gotta meet her! But she showed me a bunch of things and…”

He stops listening. Mikey keeps talking, but he stops listening. He blinks a few times, keeps his eyes on Mikey so he thinks he’s still paying attention. His vision is blurring. It’s going out of focus and he doesn’t have the energy to zoom back in. He’s floating, on a separate plane of existence, watching his life happen through hazy eyes and trying to swim against the current pushing against his skin, pressing his clothes into his body and whipping his hair into his face.

 _Dads. Dads. Dads_. He replays the word over and over in his head, tries to tongue over it and swallow it, feels it travel down his body and poke at his chest, press itself against the tendrils of his chest cavity and start to crack at the bone.

Mikey has new dads. 

Mikey has a family.

Mikey has his own family now. 

Mikey has a family he should be Mikey’s family Mikey has a family he should be Mikey’s family Mikey has a family _he should be Mikey’s family_ -

He doesn’t remember much before Willow Park. It’s all one giant blur, a mess of too many feelings and just as many drugs, all of it bundled together and packaged, lodged deep into the hollows of his chest and buried under all the depression and anxiety. Hacking through the layers that have built up around it to relive the memories is always something that’s seemed so out of reach.

He feels so removed from the memories. It’s like they happened to someone else. Life on the streets happened to a different person, a different Gerard, someone who was so desperate for Xanax that he crawled around on the ground after watching two people do an exchange, hoping, _praying_ they’d dropped a couple pills. Life on the streets happened to a Gerard that couldn’t see through the fog; it eclipsed his vision and wrapped its bony fingers around his neck, steered him in the direction of dealers and pill poppers and _moremoremoreyouneedityouneedityouneedit_.

 _They’ll make you feel better. They’ll make all of this go away. It’ll go away. You won’t hurt anymore. The voices will be gone. It’ll go away. Don’t you want to feel better? Don’t you want to feel good? It’ll make you feel so good. So fucking good_. 

They didn’t make him feel good they cost him everything he lost everything he lost Mikey it should be him he should be Mikey’s person not his fucking _dads_ he shouldn’t even have dads- _it should be you why are you so fucking weak you couldn’t stay off the fuckin’ pills for one day could you you had to get addicted and taken to a fucking group home and now you’re here and Mikey’s there and he’ll never be yours again he’s gone you lost him he’s gone he’s gone he’s gone you lost him you ruined it you ruined this you ruined him why doesn’t he hate you he should hate you why doesn’t he hate you_ -

“Gee?”

He blinks. His heart is racing. It feels like it’s been pumping small amounts of nausea into his bloodstream, increasing little by little every time, and now it’s just full on panic-filled. He swallows thickly and bites his lip, tries to keep everything inside.

“Are you okay?” Mikey asks quietly. “You don’t look so good…”

“I’m fine, baby,” he manages. “Keep going, I wanna hear more.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Mikey reaches for his hand and squeezes tightly. “You can tell me, you know. It’s okay.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I promise.”

…

“Mom, can I go-”

“Kiddo, why don’t you invite Ryan over here?” Jordan shifts the basket of laundry on her hip and reaches for her phone. “I feel like we never see you anymore.”

“Can he stay for dinner?”

“Sure,” Jordan replies. “Mama’s making chicken.”

“Her special chicken?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sweet!” Brendon exclaims. “I’m gonna go call him now!”

“Got an extra seat tonight anyway,” Frank grumbles. “Gee’s staying with Mikey tonight.”

Alex shifts against the arm of the couch and angles his body diagonally, tries to get comfortable against the cushions. He swallows as he turns to sit properly against the back pillow, bites down on his lip and inhales. 

He doesn’t have this problem, not usually. Jack sits diagonally on the couch and he sits on his lap. Jack’s chest is his support, and he moves with him, shifts his grip every time Alex leans most of his weight to one side or the other. Jack adapts to him, moves to make sure _he’s_ comfortable…

Like he’s been doing with everything else. Like he’s been doing since the trial, since _before_ the trial. Jack’s been adapting to _him_ and changing for _him_ and doing things in a way that’ll make _him_ more comfortable.

He blinks heavily at the realization, lifts his head slightly to look across the room and meet Awsten’s eyes. Awsten tilts his head in silent question. He presses down harder on his lip and nods. Jack is sitting on the same couch Awsten and Geoff are, on the other end. He forces himself not to look, trains the tunnel vision on Awsten’s fading blue hair and inhales heavily as he tunes back in. 

“…just sucks, I guess. I miss him.”

“Have you said anything?” Speak of the devil. Jack’s voice has him dropping his head back down again. The tears are filling his eyes immediately, like someone flipped a switch to turn the waterworks on. “You gotta talk with this shit, apparently.”

“He’s been all weird lately,” Frank mumbles. “I just- I don’t wanna smother him. But you guys know how I get…”

“Talk to him,” Kellin says, almost before he’s ended the sentence. “You needa tell him. _Now_. Before this gets _any_ worse.” Alex looks up at him, hears the finality in his voice and sees the shine starting to gather in his eyes. “ _Please_.”

“Kell, you know I’m not gonna-” Frank starts to say.

“I don’t, though,” Kellin mutters. Vic snakes an arm around his chest from behind, travels it upward to reach for one of Kellin’s hands and squeeze. Kellin smiles down at their joined hands, but the sad smile remains on his face. “None of us do. I don’t fuckin’ know anything anymore. I don’t remember what life was like before all this.”

“Kellin-”

“He’s gotta point, though,” Calum says. His voice sounds different. It’s the same as it has been for the past few days, but so much different from the boy who giggled when Michael fell off the road during Mario Kart or smiled so big when he complimented his bass skills. 

This is different.

Calum’s voice sounds _dark_. It’s like a snake bit him and the poison is manifesting into words. It’s full of venom. It _sounds_ poisonous. It’s a thousand stingers piercing his back, white-hot blossoming to red. 

“Nothing is the same. We’re tryin’ so hard ta get back to what we knew but maybe we just needa accept that what we knew is gone. ‘Cause wishin’ for what we had isn’t gonna get us there.” His voice drops lower at that. “Acting like everything’s okay when it fucking _isn’t_ , isn’t gonna send some magic signal to the universe ta make it okay. Trying ta go back ta the way it was isn’t gonna bring Luke back.”

…

His heart is racing.

It’s never beat this fast in his life.

His heart is racing his hands are shaking he can’t move he can’t see he can’t breathe he doesn’t know how he got here he doesn’t know what’s going on he doesn’t know what’s happening he can’t move he can’t see he can’t breathe he can’t move he can’t see he can’t breathe.

“I asked you. A. Question.” The words get progressively louder by the time his father ends the sentence, and he recoils, bends down and shoves his body against the wall _hot cold hot cold hot can’t move can’t see can’t breathe fuckfuckfuck_. “Answer. Me.”

“I d-don’t k-k-know,” he chokes out. He can’t keep his voice steady. He can’t keep anything steady right now everything’s moving he’s so dizzy it’s all moving the room is moving it’s spinning around him it’s a roller coaster he wants to get off he can’t move he can’t see he can’t breathe- “I’m s-s-sorry.”

“God, will you stop with that fucking stutter?” His father growls. “You’re fine. Stop fucking shaking like I hit you or something.”

“I- s-sorry.” He tries to force the stutter away, but it comes back. His voice is unsteady it’s all unsteady everything’s unsteady he can’t stop shaking everything is moving so fast it’s red it’s not it’s hot cold hot cold hot cold he can’t move he can’t see he can’t breathe why is this happening to him why is this his life he wants to wake up he wants to go home _MikeyMikeyMikey_ -

 _I need you I can’t do this Mikey please it hurts make it stop it won’t stop I can’t stop he won’t stop yelling at me I can’t do this I need you please stopstopstop I don’t know what to do it hurts it hurts it hurts_ -

“I asked you a simple question,” comes the voice. _It’s loud it’s too loud everything is so loud please stop stopstopstop I wanna get off don’t make me do this I can’t do this I wanna get off_ \- “All I want is an answer, Luke. We _paid_ for that session. Why didn’t you go?”

 _I couldn’t I couldn’t do it I’m sorry I tried I had a panic attack I tried I promise I couldn’t breathe it hurt too bad I’m sorry I tried I tried I tried I promise I’m sorry_. “I’m s-sorry.”

He didn’t know he could get here he’s never been this anxious in his life it’s always been bad but never this bad it’s never been this bad _Mikey please Mikey get me out of here take me away from here I can’t do this it’s too much it hurts I can’t please I don’t want to do this I don’t want to be here anymore not if it’s this I can’t do this anymore please nonononono_.

He hears it before he feels it. 

The pain explodes in his cheek like a firework going off. The sparks hang in the air for seconds afterward, collecting to form the sting that burns all the way across his skin. He can’t stop shaking. He looks up, brings a shaky hand to his face and tries to meet his father’s eyes.

 _What the fuck just happened_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? how many of y'all were expecting that? let's just say...it does some _interesting_ things for next chapter. 
> 
> some news: I'm officially on summer break, and for those of you who do follow me on tumblr (theghostofashton), you would've seen that I'm planning to post something every day until september. not just this story, I have two I'm working on on wattpad, gawsten oneshots, and worst, plus another story I'm in the process of starting, but this is going to go up at least once, if not twice a week. 
> 
> next chapter, michael goes to visit luke again, that patrick therapy session, and alex has one as well. possibly a living room conversation if I can fit it in there. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy trigger for anxiety and panic attacks, mentions of self-harm, and depression
> 
> y'all are amazing. thank you for being kind.

He inhales.

Shifting in his seat, he takes a heavy deep breath, tries to focus on his lungs expanding and contracting as he exhales it out. _One breath at a time. You’re fine. Take it one breath at a time_. 

He hears the words in Pete’s voice. They wrap around him and absorb themselves into his skin, resist against the stingers trying to push their way out, breathe a little life back into his collapsing form. _You’re okay. One breath at a time. One breath at a time_.

“Where do you wanna start today, kid?” Lucas asks. He takes a seat in the facing chair and reaches out to hand him a bottle of water.

He shrugs. “I, um- I’m okay, I think. I don’t even needa be here.” He sucks in, pulls his stomach in toward his back, and presses his nails into his palms. _Harder. Harder. Harder. One breath at a time. One breath at a time_ -

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Lucas replies. “Gimme a number.”

“Huh?” He lifts his head to look at Lucas. “Isn’t that just for group?”

“Not necessarily.” Lucas leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other. He unscrews the cap of his water bottle and takes a sip. “How’s it been recently? Can you put a number on it?”

He swallows hard. His heart is starting to race, faster and faster, like someone is turning the dial controlling it all the way up. It feels too fast. Everything feels too fast. _You’re okay you’re okay you’re fine one breath at a time one breathe at a time- nonononono you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine stopstopstop you’re fine_ \- “Uh, uhm…”

The room is starting to move around him, like he’s in one of those hamster wheels and the rodent just started running. It’s going fasterfasterfaster nonononono-

 _What’s going on what’s happening you’refineyou’refineyou’refine why is this happening what’s going on why is this happening finefinefine_ \- “I-I…”

He jumps. There’s something on his arm there’s someone next to him closerclosercloser _finefinefine_ nonononono- _you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_ \- “Patrick, hey, take a breath. C’mon, kiddo, you gotta breathe. You’re okay, I promise.” 

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s- h-happening,” he gasps. “I can’t- it’s all moving!”

“It’s gonna be okay.” He knows it’s Lucas talking, but he sounds far away, like he’s in another room. “Keep breathing. You’re okay.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispers. His heart is still racing. The world is tilting, not exactly spinning anymore, but rocking, moving from side to side. He can’t see straight. Everything feels shaky. His heart doesn’t feel like a heart – it’s a hunk of muscle lodged into his chest that’s surprisingly still beating. 

_You’refineyou’refineyou’refine_ -

“It hurts.” He turns his head to meet Lucas’ eyes. His vision is starting to blur. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

“That’s okay.” Lucas puts a hand on his back. “You don’t have to know. It’s okay. Just focus on your breathing, alright? You’re gonna be okay.”

“I want it to stop,” he chokes out. “It won’t stop…”

“It will.” Lucas grabs one of his hands in his free one and squeezes. He swallows, looks down at their hands, tries to keep himself there, tries to hang onto it, tries to cling- _you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine they have enough to worry about you’re fine mommy and daddy don’t care you’re fine you’ve caused them enough trouble you’re fine you’re fine you’re fine_ -

“… _going_ to stop, okay?” Lucas is saying. “You won’t hurt like this forever, I promise.”

_You’ve caused them enough trouble you’re fine they have enough to deal with you’re fine it’s all your fault you’re fine._

_You’re fine_.

…

“Oh my god.”

He stares. Luke’s eyes go wide as he lifts his head up. He tightens his grip on the doorknob and bites down on his lip. 

That one sight, that one image, that one _second_ , balls itself up into a fist and tunnels through his skin, breaks through the tendrils in his chest and slams straight into his heart. The muscle shakes as more pieces fall down, further and further, to the base of his chest cavity and then through to his stomach. It’s a punch. It feels like a punch. 

It’s a greedy punch that grabs for all the air, funnels it back into strengthening the fist as it hits. Again. Again. The world is punching him in the stomach and he can’t stop staring long enough to care.

The skin under Luke’s right eye is purpled, a mix of blacks and blues and violets that extend downward, connected to a large red mark on his cheek. The scarlet eclipses his entire cheek, extends its fingers toward the side of his face and culminates in a large blob that ends just where his mouth starts. 

_Fingersfingersfingers they’re actually fingers there is an imprint of a hand on Luke’s face it’s a handprint it’s a handprint it’s a handprint-_

_Someone hit him someone did this to him someone hit him someone did this to him someone hit him someone did this to him someone hit him someone hit him someonehithim_ -

“What the _fuck_ happened?” He demands. He steps over the threshold and into the house, nudges Luke backward so he’s able to shut the door behind him. Luke drops his head and starts to play with his fingers, shifts his weight from foot to foot and doesn’t reply. “Luke. Answer me.”

“It’s nothing,” Luke says quietly. “Just fell, s’all. Don’t worry about it.”

The words are barely audible. He still won’t look up. 

Michael’s heart is racing. Everything feels hot the world is on fire he doesn’t know what’s happening he doesn’t know what to do what is he supposed to do _someone hit him someone hurt him your Luke LukeLukeLuke someone hit him someone hurt him someone_ hurt _him_ -

He reaches out, barely brushes his fingers against Luke’s skin before cold air hits his hand.

Luke stands a few steps back, eyes wide. He brings a hand up to cradle his cheek. Michael can see tears starting to collect in his eyes. _That didn’t just happen it didn’t it didn’t itdidn’t he’s scared of you someone hurt him he’s scared of you someone hurt him he’s scared of you someone hurt him-_

 _Someone hurt him_. 

“I’m sorry,” he forces out with a heavy swallow. “I didn’t mean- please don’t be scared of me Lukey please I love you I-”

He feels another rush of air, and then a weight slams into his chest. Luke tucks his head underneath his chin. He exhales, ragged and heavy, wraps his arms around Luke’s back and hugs him tight. He presses his nose into the top of Luke’s head, squeezes his eyes shut and lets tears fall through them, soak into Luke’s hair and dampen the strands.

“I love you,” Luke whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for.” He bites back another swallow, tries to keep his voice level. He wants to scream. He wants to climb onto the roof and tear his clothes off and rake his nails down his bare chest, scream until his vocal chords snap and his lungs shrivel and all he has left is the shell of a body that once was. 

Why do these things keep happening to them when will it stop when is the hell going to be over when is it finally going to be done haven’t they suffered enough how much longer is this going to go on why are they still going through this haven’t they suffered enough haven’t they suffered enough _haven’t we fucking suffered for long enough_ -

 _Who did this to him who hurt him like this why does he have to go through all this it’s not fair it’s not fucking fair it should be me why isn’t it me it should be me why isn’t it me it should be me_ \- his mind is going a mile a minute. It feels too fast. Everything is too fast. If not for Luke squeezing onto his waist so tight he might explode, he’s sure he’d be far gone by now, drifting into another plane of existence that is hopefully candy-filled and light, soft and cloudy without all the shades of gloom. 

“They did this to you, didn’t they?”

Luke doesn’t have to nod.

…

He doesn’t think things through. 

He regrets too many things and realizes the consequences when it’s too late because hindsight is 20/20 but logic is not so lucky. 

He’s so preoccupied with the needneedneed _pleasepleaseplease I need it it won’t stop I can’t do this I need it I can’t breathe I need it I need it I need it_ \- 

Cutting his thighs seemed like a good idea at first.

New surface, milky white and untouched by anything sharp, a fresh, new canvas for him to paint the prettiest pictures on, all dripping red and intertwining themselves together in an intricate pattern so at least some part of him is beautiful. 

But it hurts.

Sitting down hurts. Getting up hurts. Walking up and down the stairs is torture. It’s all he can do, not to hiss or wince or screw his face up in pure agony. They’re watching him like a hawk and all he wants is to get away from their talons.

He looks down at the many stairs leading into the basement, swallows down heavily, and takes a step.

_You did this to yourself._

_You did this._

_You did this_.

He did this to himself and now he’s here and Lucas is going to ask about his limp and tell him it’s not his fault Jack left him and push him toward forgetting the boyfriend that built him back up when all he wanted to do was drown.

“Hey kiddo. Have a seat, ‘kay? Gimme one sec.”

Lucas meets his eyes for the briefest moment and then turns back to his phone. He breathes out heavily, brings in a sigh of relief that comes too soon.

“Alex? Hey, you okay? You’re limping…”

“F-fine,” he chokes out. He slams down into the chair and drops his head down, crosses his feet over each other and tries to squeeze smaller. _Why isn’t he a bug why can’t he disappear he wants to disappear he doesn’t want to be here anymore_ -

“Hey, listen, okay?” He lifts his head. Lucas slips his phone into his pocket and meets his eyes. “I’ve been talking to Jack. And we’re gonna talk today. I know it’s been really hard lately. I’m gonna try my best to help you change that, okay? Can we work together on it?”

“I want him back,” he confesses. “Please, I know you’re gonna tell me I needa fix my own shit and get better or he didn’t deserve me anyway or some other bullshit like that, but I just-” He chokes out an exhale. “I need him. I can’t do this on my own I need him I know it’s bad I need him I need him I-” He’s really crying now, tears streaming hotly down his cheeks and clinging to his neck. “I want Jack…”

“Alex.” Lucas slides onto his knees and kneewalks over to him, takes one of his hands and looks up at him. “I know what you’re feeling. I know you’re hurting really badly right now. Trust me, I get it. I know what it’s like to rely on someone and need them to feel okay. But kiddo, that’s not healthy. You’re hurting you _and_ Jack, doing that. You two are beautiful together. You make each other better. But you gotta talk. You can’t rely solely on him. You’re both trying not to hurt each other, and there’s all this pressure, and it’s all really stressful, isn’t it?” 

Alex nods rapidly. He can barely see through his tears. It’s all pouring and it’s all messy and his chest feels like it’s bleeding. 

He never thought he could hurt this much again.

“We’re gonna fix this, kiddo. You’re hurting and Jack’s hurting and there’s a lot you need to talk about, and it’s gonna be hard, but I promise it’ll be okay. You’ll always love him. But you won’t need him. Not to be okay, at least.”

“I miss him.”

“I know you do,” Lucas replies. “And he misses you too. It may not look like it, but he needs you just as much as you need him.”

Alex looks into Lucas’ eyes, feels him squeeze his hand, tries to imagine.

He’s not sure he believes it.

 _Jack doesn’t need him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? sorry it was so panic heavy. I've been trying out some new things with show, don't tell, and it might be a tiny bit too much (but that's what panic is so I don't think I'll tone it down)
> 
> next chapter is the aftermath of some things. michael tells jordan and quinn everything (some muke history/backstory comes up), a frerard scene that ends...not so well, and alex and jack (finally) try to talk. emphasis on the word try. possibly a calum scene if I can fit that too. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of depression, and mentions of self-harm

“They _what_?”

He nods, bites down on his lip and drops his head down to the ground. He can’t look up. He can’t see their faces. He can’t even imagine it. It feels like daggers pressing themselves into his heart; the more he says, the further they push.

“They- how is he?” Quinn’s already crying. He can hear it in her voice. He gnaws further into his lip and forces down a swallow against the lump in his throat. It feels like it’s getting bigger, filling up with more and more tears as the time passes. He wants to cry. He needs to cry. He wants to cry and forget all of this is happening, wake up in a world where this isn’t his life, be transported into a new existence, a new plane of reality, where he and Luke are floating on a cloud above a muted cityscape that changes with the sky.

He wants to see nothing but orange and red and pink and purple mix with blue, watch the colors blend together and transform the sky into a new canvas for clouds. He wants to go back, back to the first few weeks of their relationship when everything was soft and shiny and laden with sparkles. It was pliant and new and every day felt like the first day, the first time he turned Luke’s face upward and pressed their lips together with tears in his eyes, when flames broke through the longest icy spell and thawed everything out to warm. 

It’s nothing but a memory now, nothing but a tightly-sealed bottle of good feelings shoved so far back in the shelf in his mind. He’ll go past it every so often, feel the nostalgia pull at his heart and make itself at home amongst his chest, but he wants to hold onto the feelings until the time is right, until he’s found the perfect moment to pop the cork and release them into the air.

It’s not desperate. It shouldn’t be. It’s a warm feeling to relax back into and that’s what he wants to wait for, rather than taking the plunge right now because everything is going up in flames and their world is crumbling around them.

It’s not desperate. It shouldn’t be. 

“He- you _need_ ta get him _outta_ there,” he forces out. The words are thick and feel like they’re ripping up his throat as they come up. “He can’t- they _hit_ him…”

“Hey.” He keeps his gaze on the floor, feels a pair of hands press down on his shoulders. Jordan lifts his chin and he bites down on his lip, swallows again and tries to keep the tears back. “We will. I promise you, we will. I’m gonna call Laura right now, babe, okay? This isn’t something they can cover up. They’re not gonna be able to talk their way out of it. They hit him. It confirms everything we’ve been trying to say about them being bad parents. If they’d really changed, their first instinct when they got angry wouldn’t be to cross a line they never have before.”

“It’s a horrible way to put it,” Quinn says from behind. “And I feel awful for saying it, but maybe…maybe this is the push we need, to finally convince the judge and jury that he belongs with us.”

“We’ve always been saying he’ll be home soon,” Jordan continues. “This may’ve just sped up the process.”

…

The door creaks as Gerard opens it.

He hangs his towel on the back of his desk chair and flops onto the bed, runs a hand through his wet hair and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Frank swallows. He takes a breath and holds it, lets it swell in his chest and start to ache before he releases it. He can’t do this _you have to do this_ he can’t do this _you have to do this_ he can’t do this _you have to do this_ he can’t do this-

It’s been building, all day. It’s like a gnat at the back of his mind, buzzing around in his skull, not making enough noise to interfere with everything he was doing today, but just loud enough to keep him from forgetting about it. He can’t forget about it. He can’t _stop_ thinking about it. It’s there all the time it never leaves it never goes away he can’t stop thinking about it he can’t do anything without thinking about this he can’t do this _you have to do this_ he can’t do this _you have to do this_ he can’t do this-

He doesn’t know why it’s shaping up to be so difficult. He doesn’t know how a simple conversation turned into shaking hands and sweaty palms and a racing heart, feeling like he’s been trapped in a blender and the person controlling it is having a very bad day. 

It’s a constant shake that has him panting. The world is a little fuzzy around the edges, not completely blurred out but a little ragged at the corners. It won’t get smooth no matter how hard he tries, how many deep breaths he takes, how many swallows he forces down with a constant _it’s fine you’re fine everything’s fine stop freaking out it’s just a conversation it’s just a talk it’s just Gerard_ -

It’s just Gerard.

The thought crosses over his mind and he has to press down hard on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut, keep the tears from spilling over again. 

_Why can’t you stop freaking out why are you such a fucking baby why can’t you have one normal conversation like a normal human being it’s your fucking_ boyfriend _for fuck’s sakes what’s wrong with you why are you like this what the fuck is wrong with you why can’t you just be_ normal _for once why are you so difficult why are you such a fucking mess what’s wrong with you_ -

It plays on a constant loop, like someone pressed the button on an infinite tape recorder and he’s still in the blender it keeps getting louder the world keeps spinning faster louder faster louder faster _louderfasterlouderfasterlouderfasterhecan’tbreathe_ -

“Uh, G-Gee,” he forces out. “C-Can we, um, talk?”

Gerard looks over at him. He keeps his gaze steady, doesn’t move to meet Gerard’s eyes but levels his vision so he isn’t staring at the ceiling or the floor. “Hm?”

His heart is racing his hands are shaking it’s all moving everything is moving he can’t- _I can’t do this again I can’t breathe I can’t do this again I can’t breathe Ican’tdothisagainIcan’tfuckingbreathe_ \- “I, um, how’s Mikey?” 

It’s too hot everything is too hot the world is on fire he can feel sweat rolling down his back he wants to get out he wants to go away _why is he here why is this happening why is this his life how did he get here hotcoldhotcoldhotcold_ \- 

Gerard raises an eyebrow. “He’s good. M’gonna go see him again tomorrow.”

“Can I c-come?” He chokes out. It’s not what he’s been working himself up to say. It’s not what he’s been rehearsing in his head all day. It’s none of that it’s nothing he can’t do it he can’t _what if Gerard gets mad what if he yells what if he breaks up with you_ \- 

Gerard holds his gaze for a long moment. He drops his eyes down to his lap and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear with a heavy breath. “I- I kinda wanna see him by myself, Frankie.” He looks back up at him with a small smile. “I definitely want you guys to meet and be friends and everything, but I just- need to do this alone for right now, okay? I need this for me. I hope you can understand…”

“Y-Yeah!” The cheeriness he forces into his tone sounds just that. It’s garbled and scratchy and the sound hangs in the room for a few moments once the word leaves his mouth. 

_Why did he think he could do this he can’t do this Gerard is gonna leave him it’s happening it’s happening again he’s gonna break up with him he’s gonna be gone he’ll go back to Mikey and his old life and he’ll be so much better off he’s gonna leave he’s already pulling away it’s happening again it’s happening again it’shappeningagain_ -

He didn’t know last time.

But now he does and it’s still happening he knows he’s doing it he’s still doing it it can only mean one thing _he’s leaving you he’s leaving you he’s leaving you_ -

“Hey, Frankie, you okay?” Gerard reaches for him. He takes a step back and shakes his head roughly.

“Yeah.” His heart is starting to calm down. _He’s leaving you he’s leaving you he’s leaving you_ \- “I-I think m’gonna sleep in my room tonight…”

“Frankie-”

It’s only when he gets safely out into the hallway, when he lets his head hit the wall and digs his nails into his palms so tight he breaks skin, that he allows himself to cry. 

…

“Shit! Sorry, I-”

He pauses, pushes back onto the previous step and allows Alex to regain his footing. Pulling his lip in with his teeth, he shifts his weight onto his right foot and meets Alex’s eyes as soon as he looks up. 

His face is red. It’s swollen around his cheek area, streaky with dried tears. His eyes are bloodshot and marked with dark purple stripes at the bottom. His sleeves are pulled over his hands and he’s favoring his left foot. 

It’s not a new sight. Alex has been walking around like this for days now. He’s seemingly always on the verge of tears, biting his lip or clenching his teeth in order to keep them in. He’s quiet and on the sidelines, barely making conversation in the game room and leaving as soon as his plate is clean at meals. 

Jack’s heart aches. It feels like it’s bleeding, like more and more pieces are breaking off and smashing to the bottom of his chest cavity in shards. They’re sharp and they dig, press into his skin and bring the sting to the surface. 

Alex has his heart. He climbed into it so long ago and has made a home for himself among the chambers. He’s the biggest part, at the bottom where everything culminates, the center of the many pieces that make up the still-beating muscle in his chest.

It feels like he’s collapsing on the inside. To watch Alex walk around the house like this, see his lip quivering and his face starting to crumple at the tiniest things, witness the part of every breakdown that’s too big to be contained, all of it feels like the world is going up in flames and everything is to trivial to matter.

Alex matters. Alex matters and he’s hurting and everything is going wrong for him and Jack’s own chest is folding in on itself _if you hadn’t said anything you wouldn’t be here this wouldn’t be happening he wouldn’t be this much of a mess this is all your fault_ \- “You- I still love you. You know that, right? I’m still in love with you. You’re the only one I want and that hasn’t changed.”

“Don’t,” Alex says. His voice cracks. It sounds hoarse the entire time, like he’s been gargling a bottle of gravel. “Please, just- let me go. Leave me alone.”

He tries to push past. Jack swallows and reaches forward to put a hand on his shoulder. Alex shoves against him in protest but he remains firm. “I love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. I know you hate me and I know I hurt you, but I just- I couldn’t do it anymore, Lex. I tried. I tried for so long but then you ended up in the hospital and I knew it wasn’t working.”

“If I was so much of a burden, why didn’t you just tell me?”

He exhales heavily. “You’re not getting it. I love you. I just- I can’t be everything for you. Not anymore. Not when I’m not even everything for myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? I'm really interested in what yall think of alex and jack and their whole situation and the dichotomy between frank and gerard in tdiu and this (similar) storyline manifesting itself in a completely different way. and of course, we're well on our way to luke coming home where he belongs, but yall know me lmao (it's not gonna be that easy)
> 
> next chapter is the calum scene, a court scene (luke's trial is finally happening again), and lucas tries to get alex and jack in a joint therapy session so they can hear what the other has to say (without the mess that was their scene in this chapter). the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours. 
> 
> thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a big one. be prepared.
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of self-harm, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of suicide, and violence

Everything is moving.

It’s all spinning so fast too fast _it’smovingit’stoofasteverythingistoofastwhatthefuckisgoingon_ \- 

He forces himself to swallow, forces the breath in and clenches his teeth to hold it. He holds it, lets the air blossom amidst his chest cavity. It feels like finding water in the desert. He’s been without for so long and he’s gasping. He’s choking on whatever he can find, _grab as much as you can before it’s gone it’s going it’s gone it’ll be gone grab as much as you can before it’s gone_ \- The air in the room is finite and he’s trying despite all of it, _grab as much as you can take it all none for anyone else it’s going it’s gone it’ll be gone_ -

They hit him.

They _hit_ him.

They put their hands on him they hit him they hit him they fucking hit him-

How the _fuck_ did this happen _they hit him_ how did they get here _they hit him_ how is everything turning so bad so fast _they fucking hit him_ -

He knew something bad would happen he knew it was coming he knew Luke wouldn’t get out of there without a scratch he knew it’d be bad _heknewheknewheknew_ -

They hit him.

Everything is red.

_Red white hot red white hot he wants to kill he wants to kill hewantstokill-_

_Redwhitehot_ \- 

The world is tilting back and forth, spinning around on its axis like it’s one of those toy globes, like some curious child thought it was a bouncy ball and is now spinning and dribbling with vigor. 

_Why wasn’t it him why was it Luke it should’ve been him why wasn’t it him it should’ve been him why wasn’t it him it should’ve been him why wasn’t it him it should’ve been him why wasn’t it him_ \- Luke doesn’t deserve this Luke shouldn’t be there Luke shouldn’t be dealing with this it shouldn’t be him why is it him it shouldn’t be him _why is it him-_

 _Why didn’t he go back he should’ve gone back you should’ve gone back you deserved to go back why didn’t you go back you deserved to go back why didn’t you go back you deserved to go back why didn’t you go back_ -

Everything is red. It’s like someone infused the color permanently into his world. The spots of ink are marring a seemingly perfect picture, tainting a picturesque landscape of _breathe, you’re okay, the world is not out to get you_ with _everything is on fire it’s burning it’s all burning redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot_ -

“Cal?”

It’s all spinning.

He can’t see can’t hear can’t _breathe redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehotkillkillkill_ everything is going so fast why is this happening why is he here how did he get here where’s the button to turn it off _what’s happening why is this happening I can’t turn it off why can’t I turn it off_ redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot _it won’t stop please stop it won’t stop please stop it won’t stop please stop it won’t stop_ -

There are bugs crawling all over his skin they’re pressing they’re stinging everything is moving it’s all going so fast redwhitehot why is this happening why won’t it stop it won’t stop _I don’t know what to do it won’t stop why won’t it stop it won’t stop_ -

He feels it. There’s pressure and then there isn’t and then it’s tighter and tighter _redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot tightertightertighter_.

“G-Get off,” he forces out. It’s all red everything’s on fire it won’t stop burning everything’s burning it’s on fire he can see the flames _redwhitehot hewantstokillhewantstokillhewantstokill_ -

Ashton keeps touching him why is he touching him he won’t stop it won’t stop nothing is stopping why won’t it stop- _redwhitehotredwhitehothewantstokillhewantstokillhewantstokill_ -

“Breathe, Cal.” He won’t get off he keeps _touching_ why won’t he stop what the fuck is wrong with him why can’t he just- why won’t it stop it won’t stop nothing is stopping _redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot_ \- “You’re okay. Can you…” His voice starts to fade. Or, Calum stops listening. Everything is _redwhitehotredwhitehotredwhitehot_. 

“…breathe…okay…worry…” 

Ashton keeps talking.

He won’t stop _fucking_ talking.

His hands are everywhere he won’t stop it won’t stop why won’t it stop _redwhitehot_ \- 

“Cal-”

He wrenches himself away, ducks down and out of Ashton’s grip. Ashton is staring at him, reaching out once again, and trying to grab at his shirt and shoulder and arm. He swallows and takes in a ragged breath. It cuts as it comes up, pulls at his throat and sits heavily at the pit of his stomach.

“Get away from me,” he growls. It’s hot too hot everything is too hot it’s too much _hewantstokillhewantsitkillhewantstokill_ \- “Get away.”

“What’s going on?” Ashton takes a step forward, and then another, and another- _he’s too close why won’t he stay away why won’t he_ listen _redwhitehotredwhitehot_ -

They move at the same time.

He feels the arm on his shoulder, the fingers that curl around his bicep and attempt to pull him forward. The next few moments are a blur. They happen so fast he can barely register them. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until it’s over.

Until his fist is clenched and his chest is heaving and Ashton is lying on the ground with a hand pressed against his eye, staring at him.

 _He doesn’t realize what he’s done until it’s over_.

…

“I can’t do this.”

“Kiddo-”

“No, I can’t, fuck, I can’t breathe, fuck-”

He forces in an inhale too quickly. The air feels like an intruder, an invasion his body resists and pushes against, launches attacks at, over and over, until he’s coughing and choking and everything is going black and fuzzy. It’s like he’s floating, going higher and higher and dangling over the edge. He’s about to fall but he doesn’t know when and his heart is racing his hands are shaking this can’t be happening _nonononono_ -

“Hey.” He feels the pressure on his shoulders, feels it tighten, _can’tbreathecan’tbreathefuckfuckfuck_ \- “Listen to me. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise you that. I don’t promise things lightly, but I’m promising you this. It’s _going_ to be okay. It’s just a talk, a talk that _I’m_ going to be there for. The entire time. You’re not on your own, Alex. We’re doing this together.”

“I’m such a mess,” he mumbles. “And Jack’s fine and good and laughing and joking he’s fucking _fine_ and I feel like I can’t breathe and keep relapsing and it’s all just so fucked up it’s not fair I just-” He has to stop. He has to cut himself off there. The world is blurring in and out. He feels like he’s going to faint. This is too much. He can’t do this. It’s too much.

“It’s easy to hide things like this, kid,” Lucas replies. “He’s fine on the outside, when you see him in the game room or at the table, but you have no _idea_ what happens when he’s by himself.”

“I just-” He hiccups. “I want him to miss me. Like I miss him. I want him to love me as much as I love him.”

“He does.” That’s a new voice. Everything is cold again. He can’t look up. _Hotcoldhotcoldhotfuckfuckfuck_ \- it’s Jack Jack heard him Jack’s here Jack heard all of it he’s such a mess fuckfuckfuck- “Lex, can you please look at me?”

He doesn’t want to _nonono_ why is he always the mess why is he always the one that’s crying why is Jack always fine he’s not okay Jack is he’s not okay Jack is he’s never okay Jack always is it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not fucking fair-

He looks up just the tiniest bit, just enough to catch Jack’s eyes. They’re red. The purple marks are the most prominent they’ve been in weeks. There are remnants of tears on his cheeks and in his eyelashes. “I love you. More than anything. More than I’ve loved anyone else. It’s just- I can’t love you that hard. I don’t even love _myself_ that hard. And I can’t be the only thing that keeps you calm or sane or from relapsing. I just can’t.”

“That’s good,” Lucas says from behind. “That’s a great place to start.” Jack plops down next to him, leaves a few inches of space between their bodies but relaxes his shoulders and crosses his legs. “Because I think the problem you both have is codependency.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucas sighs. “I think the trial heightened it, but- it’s that feeling you have, Alex, how you _need_ Jack to be okay. And Jack, how you _need_ Alex at mealtimes, or you won’t eat. You’re both getting better, sure, but you’re doing it at the expense of each other.”

“You- you’re not eating again?” He doesn’t register the words until they’re coming out of his mouth. He turns to stare at Jack, concentrate his gaze on his sweatshirt-covered abdomen. 

He’s been wearing a lot of sweatshirts lately. Layering himself up in fabric to hide the way his shirts cling to his hipbones and conform to the concave structure of his stomach. 

Alex swallows. 

He thought Jack was getting better.

He was just getting _used_ to it.

“D-Don’t.” He can see Jack starting to shake now. He’s gone almost a shade lighter, dropped his face down to his lap and pulled his shoulders into his body. 

He takes a deep breath and scoots over, just the slightest bit. He can hear how heavy Jack’s breathing is starting to become. He’s staring at his lap, biting his lip, digging his nails into fleshy part of his palms. 

“I have to, kiddo,” Lucas says. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I know talking about yourself is hard. But you’re killing yourself here. You may not think that, but you are. You’re saying you can’t be everything for Alex, but he can’t be it all for you either. Your eating shouldn’t be contingent on whether he’s with you or not.”

Jack gives the tiniest whimper. Lucas probably didn’t even hear it.

He did. It floated toward him and absorbed itself into his skin, traveled into his body and down, made another little whole in his swiss-cheese heart. 

“Your guys’ problem is codependency,” Lucas continues. He exhales another sigh. “Which isn’t uncommon in relationships where both people are mentally ill, unfortunately. I see it in a lot of you boys. My wife and I were at that point, a long time ago. When you have someone in your life that makes you feel better, that makes all of _this_ -” He pauses to spread his hands out. “Go away, of course you’re gonna attach yourself to that. But that person can’t be the only reason anything is good. That’s not healthy. We need to work on recovery, for both of you, alone. No codependent relationship can function very well for a long time, as you’re both starting to realize…” He trails off and shakes his head. “But now that we know that, we’re gonna do something about it. Trust me. It’s gonna take a lot of hard work and both of you will definitely hate me in the near future, but I promise, things are going to get better.”

He nods. 

Jack still isn’t looking up. 

His heart is racing and his palms are sweating. Everything feels too big. The world is too loud. 

He inhales heavily and swallows down the breath, feels it sit at the pit of his stomach with saliva, and turns his head to face Jack. One of his hands is resting on the couch and the other is clenched tightly, fingernails dug into his palm.

Slowly, quietly, he reaches over to take Jack’s free hand. 

…

“This trial is scheduled for a month from now. Ms. Thompson, you better have a very good reason for demanding I push it to the top of my list.”

“I do, your honor.”

He clenches his fingers around Calum’s hand and presses down hard on his lip. Luke’s eyes are everywhere, flitting around the courtroom rapidly. His gaze is moving all over the place, everywhere except to his direct left, where both his parents are sitting. He’s on the stand, already sworn in and ready to testify. The red on his cheek is fading. The color is a lot less saturated than it was the day after. But the mark, the _handprint_ …what happened to him is obvious. 

“Please, go ahead.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Laura nods to him and then takes a step back, turns to address the entire jury. “I’ve been putting together an appeal for my client’s case since the decision was made. I do not believe it was a fair one, as he had a panic attack up on the stand and was therefore unable to finish giving his testimony. I believe, had he been able to speak, your decision would have been drastically different. After the events that transpired last week, I feel it is urgent that this case be reopened. My client’s parents are abusive and the environment he has been forced to live in for the past couple months has set back his recovery considerably. Mrs. Slater and Mrs. Hartley have been proven to be excellent guardians for him when his parents were not. Luke has a family, a family that supports and loves him, provides therapy and healthy relationships, all of which further his recovery every day. He should be with them.”

“Your honor, the decision has already been made. The kid’s back with his parents. What’s the point in reopening a – rightfully – closed case?”

He grits his teeth and focuses a glare on Luke’s parents’ lawyer. The man has his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and is twirling a pen in his hand. _Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_ -

He’s never been religious, but last night, before Jordan and Quinn called lights out, he prayed. He definitely didn’t use the right words and thanked the Supreme Being in the sky way too many times, but it was a prayer that might help Luke- _anything he’ll do anything pleasepleaseplease_ -

“Ms. Thompson, be brief.”

“Gladly,” Laura returns. She looks over at Luke. “Mr. Hemmings, can you tell me exactly what happened on the night of February 26th?”

He watches Luke swallow and turn his head. Their gazes meet. He smiles, mouths ‘you’re doing so good. I love you. It’s almost over’. 

“I, um- my dad didn’t like the therapist I have at Willow Park,” Luke starts, albeit a little shakily. “So he and my mom found someone else. It was my first appointment, and I-” A hiccup. “I c-couldn’t. I tried, but I just- it took me so long to trust Lucas and I couldn’t do again Lucas knows me he knows everything I can’t start with a stranger again-” He pauses again, lets a dry sob slip. “So I- my dad came home, and my mom told him, and he just- he got so _mad_ \- I’ve never seen him that made before, and he-” Another sob. “He hit me.”

…

Laura says it’s not meant to be a long and drawn out case. They hear the rest of Luke’s statement, and then more half-assed, poorly acted excuses from his parents – “he was just caught up in the moment. He’s really stressed out at work, and it was particularly bad that day. He didn’t mean to do it, and I promise, this will _never_ happen again” – and then the judge calls recess and jury goes into a little room. 

And now they’re back in the courtroom. 

His hands are shaking. He hasn’t breathed all day. Everything is too hot. The world is loud. He doesn’t have anything in his stomach but parts of it are trying to eject from his throat anyway. 

He swallows.

This needs to be over.

He _needs_ this to be over.

“Have you reached a verdict?”

“We have, your honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? I'm a college student, not a lawyer, and I have no idea how any of this legal stuff works, so I cut out a lot of the court scene and used narration because I didn't want to be blatantly wrong for a very long scene. sorry about that lmao
> 
> slater and hartley are jordan and quinn's last names (respectively) 
> 
> next chapter is the aftermath, the aftermath of that cashton scene, and some peterick where yall _finally_ get a total answer as to what's going on with patrick. 
> 
> and for the record, the "more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter" thing is actually what I use to gage things. next chapter's big. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heavy trigger warnings for anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of abuse, and eating disorders (purging/bulimia) 
> 
> please keep yourselves safe!!

It doesn’t feel real.

He heard the words. He _heard_ the man say the words, the cheers and sighs of relief and arms being thrown around his neck. He was there for all of it. He felt Michael’s lips on his and the lump in his throat when Quinn pulled him into her arms and breathed _you’re ours, now. Forever_ , into his ear. He was there. He remembers it happening. He remembers _all_ of it happening.

It just doesn’t feel real.

It feels like a dream, a fever dream, one that you have when you’re delirious, when your mind conjures up all these absurd scenarios and lumps them into one. 

It’s the kind of dream you don’t want to wake up from, the kind that feels sparkly, light as a cloud and covered in glitter. Cotton candy clouds and starry crowds, like everything has an added layer of warmth and sunshine thrown over it. It’s soft and shiny and laden with sparkles, like all the colors have come together as one and blossomed. There’s a light in his chest and flowers everywhere.

It feels like a dream.

Watching Vic and Kellin lift both sides of his trunk and Ashton reach for his duffel and Brendon follow with the last of his suitcases, watching everything travel back upstairs, back into the only room that’s ever felt like home, watching the pieces of his life slowly start to gravitate back toward each other…

“Lukey?”

He jumps, shakes his head and blinks his vision back into focus. “Huh?”

“You okay?” Michael tilts his chin and pecks his lips. “Lost ya for a sec.”

“Yeah.” He cups Michael’s cheek and wraps an arm around his waist, takes a step forward to press their foreheads together. “M’fine. Just thinking.”

“’bout?” Michael keeps his same light tone as he says the word, but his eyes are locked on Luke’s. 

“I’m home.” It still doesn’t feel real. He’s in the house and his bags are in the room and the puzzle pieces are in the right places, but it still doesn’t feel real. He can say it and think it and remember it as much as possible, but it still feels like a dream. It feels like he’s about to wake up and all of this is going to be gone.

It’s like he’s going to wake up in that house, in that bed, wake up to the nails digging into his shoulder and the screams in his ear, _get up! Fucking lazy bum, you think you can pull what you just did and then come home and sleep the day away like nothing’s wrong?_

_If you’re so “anxious” about everything, I’ll get you a damn therapist. Someone better than that tattooed idiot that looks like a fucking teenager._

_Your father’s right. Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetheart. Everyone gets nervous when they have to talk in public. That doesn’t mean you have anxiety. You can’t avoid your life forever. It’s time to own up to what you’ve done and start making things right_. 

It’s like he’s about to wake up and all of this is going to be gone.

The thought is a thorn in his side that digs further the more he ruminates on it. He swallows and shakes his head again. _You’re home. Focus on that. You’re home. Everything’s gonna go back to normal. You’re home. You’re home. You’re home_. He kisses Michael again. “I’m home.”

…

His cheek stings.

It’s been a day, and it still stings.

He lifts his fingers to his face and brushes across the heated skin, feels the tiny pinpricks of pain spark and erupt below. It’s not an overwhelming pain. It isn’t enough to bring tears to his eyes or sobs to his lips. It’s not enough to even express discomfort over. It’s a low pain, a dull pain, a barely significant _he did this to you Calum did this he did this he did this to you do you remember? Calum did this. Calum hit you. Calum did this._

 _Calum did this_.

That’s what brings the tears. That’s what reconstructs the lump in his throat. That’s what makes his eyes burn and the ache sting and everything feel like it’s pressing on him at once, like his existence starts with a different A and the sky has just become infinitely heavier. 

It doesn’t feel real. 

It doesn’t feel like what actually happened, did. It’s a weird feeling. He knows that much. He sits down and lets his mind wander and finds himself back at that day, back in those moments when, for the first time since he stood in front of the charred rubble that was once the beat in his chest, the air felt finite and he was running on borrowed time. 

He’s not a panicky person. He watches Alex clutch at his chest and Awsten’s eyes go wide, sees Frank get two shades paler and Luke freeze in his spot. He learns the point at which anxiety strikes, watches them go from participant to passerby, knows exactly when the attack hits and what the aftermath is that follows. He takes it all in. He _knows_ what happens. He’s seen it happen. 

He’s never lived it.

He’s never felt the breath leave his body, like the air was slowly turning poisonous and there was nothing left to grab onto. He’s never felt his heart physically sink into the bottom of his chest cavity and start racing, pumping a tidal wave of anxiety-infused blood through his veins. He’s heard about it. It was all a reality he never could participate in.

Until yesterday.

Until he was on the floor and his elbow was stinging and his cheek was burning and all he could do was stare. Until the entire world disappeared and the only two people on it were him and Calum. Until he saw the look in Calum’s eyes, the black, the dark, the gone. 

Until Calum wasn’t _his_ anymore.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong. He doesn’t know what’s _been_ wrong. He doesn’t know what Calum’s so angry about or why he won’t talk to him or why he fucking _hit him_. He doesn’t know what’s going on and the world feels like it’s on fire. Everything is burning. 

Everything he knew is burning.

It’s all smoldering and smoking, turning to a crisp right before his very eyes. He’s watching it happen just like he did when he was fourteen and just riding up to the house after an unplanned late night with his friends. He was supposed to be home. He was supposed to be there. 

He was supposed to be _with them_.

He was supposed to be with them and he was supposed to be with Calum. He was supposed to be better he was supposed to _know_ he was supposed to anticipate and prevent and _do something_ other than watch his entire life go up in flames. 

He was supposed to be there.

He was supposed to _do something_.

His world is going up in flames once again, but it’s different this time. 

The smell of charred flesh is a distant memory. 

…

Everything is hot.

The tears pouring down his cheeks and the liquid ejecting from his throat, the air around him and the temperature of the room. It all feels hot. Too hot. It’s sweaty and sticky and the world is moving around. It’s too hot. It’s red and hot and it hurts everything hurts _why is he here why is he doing this it’s too hot hothothot_ -

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth and swipes them across his pants, swallows down sticky saliva and screws up his face. The smell is everywhere. It’s an intruder that’s invincible, letting down every barrier and traveling straight into his nose, _do you see what you do this is your problem this is why you’re such a mess you keep fucking doing this to yourself_ -

He doesn’t know what happened.

He doesn’t know how he got here.

He doesn’t know how he went from _everything is fine I have it under control I’m getting better I feel like I’m the best off out of everyone here to everything is falling apart and I can’t stop and it’s all different and I don’t know what to do_.

He can’t stop. It won’t stop. Everything feels so heavy, all of the time. It’s pressing down on him and forcing him to the floor, a weight that piles onto his back and embeds itself in his skin, _harderharderharder_ , until _I can’t do this I can’t breathe I want it to stop I need this to stop I’m so tired I just want things to go back to normal when will this stop_ -

He wants it to stop. He wants the cuddles and kisses and arms back around his torso, staying up past three in the morning and having debates about the stupidest things. He wants things to go back to the way they were, when everything felt light and airy and they were floating on the magic carpet of their relationship. The world was soft and shiny and everything had a new sort of sparkle he was never able to explain. It just felt different. 

He doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want to _be_ this anymore. They used to stay up till three in the morning talking about everything, having the most intellectual conversations while tangling their legs together and curling closer to each other.

It’s three in the morning again. 

Nothing is his anymore.

The world is happening and he’s bystanding, watching, witnessing his life unfold and change and go on, whether he’s ready for it or not. It’s all happening so fast. Time is passing quicker than he knows how to handle. The world is happening and he’s damaging. He can’t keep up. 

He swallows and shoves his fingers into his mouth again, moves them further and presses down harder. It brings an immediate sting, a white-hot screen of pain that eclipses everything and coats it in a hazy fog. His throat is screaming as the liquid surges up and out. 

It hurts.

It’s a tearing hurt, like someone’s just taken a knife and ripped his stomach open. It’s a jagged cut that slices through him, feels like a stab that hasn’t really stopped just yet. The pain remains but it feels like a new blade every time, a new cut, a new tear, a new rip into everything he thought he knew. 

He thought he knew this. He thought he could do this. He thought he could _control_ this. It was his and no one else’s and he had it and experimented with it and eventually got so obsessed with it that it became his life. But it was _his_. He was in control no one else could do anything or change anything it was his all his hishishis-

He jumps. 

He feels his entire body tense, like someone just lit it on fire. Everything is moving. It’s all too hot. He doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Breathe. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.” Pete tightens his grip. He feels the arms snake around, connect in front of his chest and start to pull him backward. 

He swallows. 

The world is too big. Everything is too hot. It was all his _hishishis- this was yours it was all yours it was you you needed this it was all too much you needed this it was all too much you needed this it was all too much you needed this_ -

“I c-can’t,” he forces out. His throat is raw. Everything feels like it’s bleeding. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can, you’re gonna be okay, I promise you will,” Pete is saying. “I love you so much.”

“N-no.” It’s too hot. It’s moving too fast. He can’t do it. Too much _it was his it’s not his it’s too much toomuchtoomuchtoomuch can’t do it can’t move can’t speak can’t breathe can’t do anything can’t do it can’t do it can’t fucking do it_ \- “I need- I n-need…” He trails off, shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. 

He turns his head into Pete’s shoulder and sobs, feels the cry tear into his stomach once more and bubble up his throat. _Can’t do it can’t breathe can’t breathe can’tfuckingbreathe_ -

Pete is saying something but he can’t hear it _can’t move can’t speak can’t fucking breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t_ -

“Help,” he chokes out. “I need h-help…”

It's not his anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? it's kinda...really heavy, I'm sorry. it's not gonna get better from here on out. I'm trying to show the reality of mental illness, and well, this is it. 
> 
> but next chapter we've got a group therapy session with all of them, a living room conversation that gets very heavy very quickly for gerard, and some really angsty gawsten. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of suicide, self-harm, and abuse

“I wanted to get all of you together to talk about some stuff.” Lucas says the words as he walks around to sit at the head of the circle. “See how everyone’s doing – especially you, Luke. It’s really good to have you back, kiddo. We’ve missed you.”

“I missed you guys too.” Luke’s voice is soft. It’s softer than he ever remembers it being, much like when he stepped foot in the house for the first time, that first night, his one-word answers that sounded paper-thin, reminiscent of the scars within.

He remembers that night; can think back to it and pull the memories out immediately. _C’mon, don’t you wanna go downstairs and meet everyone?_

_N-no…I don’t- I can’t… Please, I- please don’t make me…_

_Whoa, no, no one here’s ever gonna make you do anything_! 

He remembers saying the words, feeling his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the fear in Luke’s eyes, the pain, the darkness, the vacancy. Tall and broad-shouldered, but he’d never looked smaller. He remembers feeling like someone had torn a hole in his chest, like, _he actually thought I was going to hurt him if he said no he thought I would hurt him he thought_ -

He remembers how much it hurt, a pain that lingered and sparked and burned all over again, watching Luke turn fully to face him with the widest eyes he’d ever seen. He was frozen. He was shaking. He was _terrified_.

It was a chain reaction, a thickness that seemed to settle over the room and cling to his bones, wrap itself around and press until everything felt like paper and it was all starting to crack. Everything was starting to crack. It was disintegrating and falling it felt like someone punched a hole and tore through the tendrils in his chest it was everywhere it was too much _he thought you were going to_ hurt _him_ -

He remembers what happened after. How he sat down on the floor and pulled Luke down in front of him, opening his mouth and not even being sure what words were coming out, just knowing that they were working because he got a laugh, a smile housed behind red cheeks and chattering teeth that seemed to crack the slow-forming ice taking over the room.

He went to Lucas. He ambushed him the very next morning, plopped down in front of him before, _hey kiddo, you good? Ash’s appointment is first today, remember? Was there something you needed to talk about?_

 _He’s scared of me. He thought_ – he remembers his voice catching here, ducking his head down and trying to swallow through it – _he thought I would hurt him_.

He remembers Lucas’ eyes. Everything was dark. It took a moment for him to speak, a moment that molded itself into a bullet and shot straight into his chest. _Flooding. It’s a form of exposure therapy. When they do it_ right – emphasis on right, a word that felt like venom leaving Lucas’ lips, that changed the air in the room, injected a flow of poison into the atmosphere – _it’s supposed to really help with anxiety. Expose the person to something that makes them anxious with no risk or negative consequence, and they’ll see that it isn’t so bad. But some people are impatient. It takes time. Baby steps. Some people don’t want to wait. So they flood the person with anxiety-inducing stimuli until they can’t handle any more. It only works for some people, and really fucks up the ones it doesn’t_. 

“I have something I wanted to talk about.” He blinks his vision back into focus at the sound of Lucas’ voice. “If no one wants to say anything.”

He swallows, lifts his head up to look around the circle. His gaze doesn’t linger. He doesn’t let it. He scans right over to Alex, over Patrick’s head buried in Pete’s shoulder and Kellin and Vic’s hands joined and Awsten discretely trying to close the gap between his and Geoff’s bodies. _Don’t look don’t look don’t look don’t look_ \- He tries, tries not to let himself stare at Alex for too long, tries not to catch his gaze- _you’re gonna piss him off don’t look don’t look don’t look_ -

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Luke shifts in his spot, squirms around and pulls his lip in with his teeth. Michael lifts their joined hands and makes a big show of squeezing, scoots the tiniest bit closer and leans over to press their torsos together. “And I feel so fuckin’ stupid, ‘cause, like, I know some of you guys got so much worse, like, this was the first time, it only happened once, he’s never-” His breath hitches. “Hit me, before. But Awsten got put in the fuckin’ _hospital_ and Alex and Gerard, I just- I know I’m stupid, I _know_ , but I’m just- so scared. All the time. I can’t stop thinking about it and I’m so scared and it’s so fucking _stupid_ , but I just-”

“Don’t do that,” Awsten speaks up. Jack looks over at him, watches Geoff’s arm come up and his fingers curl around his torso. “That’s not…it doesn’t work like that.”

“Abuse is abuse,” Gerard adds. He shakes his head and looks straight at Luke. “It doesn’t matter if it’s gone on for five years or five minutes. It hurts all the same.”

“It wasn’t abuse, though!” Luke snaps. “He hit me once and now I’m back here and it’s never gonna happen again, but I still just…why am I still so fucking scared?”

“Abuse doesn’t have to be physical,” Awsten says quietly. “Calling me a worthless faggot and telling me I wasn’t his son anymore hurt way worse than him breaking my ribs and giving me a concussion.”

He swallows. A silence falls over the room, a sticky blanket of tension that extends its tendrils out to wrap around them all. He can feel it weighing at him, pressing him into the floor, stealing the saliva from his mouth and drying everything out. 

Geoff pulls Awsten onto his lap and wraps both arms around him, presses a kiss against the top of his head. Awsten rests his head on Geoff’s chest, but keeps his gaze around the circle. 

“It starts off as a slap.”

His heart plummets at the voice. He feels how rapidly it sinks into his stomach, feels the nausea start to surge upward, feels how immediately heavy everything gets.

 _Alex_.

…

“It starts off as a slap,” he hears himself say. “And at first, they’re horrified by it. They didn’t mean to. It was just a one-time thing. And they’re apologizing and promising it’ll never happen again and giving you so much love that you _want_ to forgive them. Because parents mess up just like we do, right?” He forces out a laugh. “And then it happens again. And again. And they start to realize you’re not gonna snitch. They’re your parents. It was an accident. They didn’t mean it.”

Everyone is staring at him. Jack is staring at him. He tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands and forces himself to swallow. “And you get used to it. A day doesn’t feel complete without it. You’re not a person anymore; you’re a punching bag. They mold whatever problems they have into something you did to justify it. And they do. All the time. You didn’t even do anything wrong and they make up some reason you did.”

“And after a while, the hurt gets really bad.” His voice breaks. “And you start to- you start to think you deserve it?” He bites his lip, blinking rapidly. “Because it wouldn’t be happening if you didn’t. And that’s the first time you pick up a blade. Because you deserve it. You deserve the hurt. It’s all you know. You’re nothing without it.”

He stops.

Everything stops.

He’s never known the world to have a pause button, but it feels like someone jammed their finger into it, like the scene is halted on the edge of action, a cup about to overflow, spill out and dribble down the sides in all its messy glory. 

Everyone is staring at him.

His skin is burning the room is spinning it all stops _it won’t stop_ it all stops _it won’t stop_ it all stops _it won’t stop_ \- 

Jack is staring at him and Awsten is leaning forward and Lucas is opening his mouth to say something everyone is looking at him Jack is staring at him Jack is staring at him _Jackisstaringathim-_

_fuck_

It’s all hot too hot when did the room become a sauna it’s burning everything is burning and stinging hothothot too hot too much it won’t stop-

He’s on his feet before he registers it. His feet move completely independent from his brain. He feels grooves on the wooden floor dig into his bare feet and slap into his skin as he slips and slides his way out of the room and up the stairs. His chest hurts. It’s burning. Everything is burning. 

_Where did that come from why did you say that what the fuck is wrong with you too much too heavy too much you’re too much it’s too much it’s all too much too much too fucking much_ \- 

This is why Jack left you _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ this is why he doesn’t want to be with you anymore _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ this is why he’s never coming back _toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ -

“I didn’t know.”

He lifts his head. It feels like deadweight, ten thousand tons he doesn’t have the strength to hold up anymore. Everything is heavy. His breath is coming in pants. The back of his shirt is soaked, sticking to him _toohothothothot_ \- He lets his eyes slip closed and braces himself against the wall.

“I didn’t…” Jack repeats. “All this time, you’ve been hurting. During the trial, even _before_ the fuckin’ trial. You didn’t stop. You _couldn’t_.”

“I-I-” The words don’t come. His chest is so tight. The room is getting smaller. Everything is hot. It’s all burning. It won’t stop.

“They hurt you,” Jack says. “So much, for so long, that you think it’s _normal_? That it’s _supposed_ to happen…” He pauses as soon as the words leave his lips. His face seems to crumble a bit. He takes a tiny step forward and stretches a hand out. “ _Alex_ …”

He drops his head and chokes out a sob that feels wet and dry at the same time. It tears up his throat like a ball of fire, sparking and sending out miniature embers that set everything aflame. _Too hot. Can’t breathe. Too much_. 

How the fuck did this happen how the fuck is this his life when did it get so bad when did everything change why is he here- _I don’t want to be here_ \- why is this happening- _I can’t do it anymore_ \- why won’t it stop- _it won’t stop it won’t it won’t fucking_ stop-

 _JackburdenuselessgonealoneJackburdenuselessgonealoneJackburdenuselessgonealone_ -

The touch stings. He flinches away at first; feels his body slam against the wall and the ache start to spread out over his back. It doesn’t stop. The arm snakes behind his back and nudges him forward, supports him from behind as he’s passed closer and closer to land.

It’s like the first sip of water after spending hours in a desert, like he’s an alcoholic who’s being awarded a single sip of wine. It feels like a dream at first, sparkly edges that drape over him softly, present enough that he knows it’s there but subtle, drawing him in, tempting him like a carrot moving further and further away.

Jack squeezes him to his chest.

And the world takes a step back.

The demons, long-bodied and snarling, stop in place and start to fade, unhand their claws from his body and allow the stinging to die down. 

And it does.

He breathes in the only scent he’s ever wished to get drunk off of, presses cheek to chest, ear to heart, _Jack. Jack. Jack_.

“I’m sorry,” Jack is saying. His hands are moving all over and every place they reach flips up a switch of warmth. It’s all warm. The lights are starting to turn on, one by one, after a decade of darkness. 

There is finally light. 

“I didn’t know. I didn’t get it. I didn’t…I couldn’t figure out why you were still doing it.” Jack’s breath is warm against his ear. “I guess I thought, you’re here, for good, why are you still cutting?” He pauses and blows out a long puff of air. “It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. I didn’t realize…fuck, I’m sorry, Lex. I’m so sorry.”

“J…” He doesn’t get out much more. Every trace of a phrase pokes through and fizzles out when it reaches his throat. His mouth feels too dry. 

“I love you.”

The next moments are a blur. One moment he’s trying to focus his gaze on Jack and look into his eyes and process, _what the fuck is happening what is the universe doing what is going on_ -

And then Jack’s lips are on his and the world shifts behind them, puzzle pieces start to travel back to each other, lines cross once again. He wraps his arms around Jack’s neck and feels the hands on his waist, deepens the kiss and inhales, exhales, _breathes_.

They press their foreheads together when they break it. Jack is smiling. His hands are running all over his face, cupping his chin and stroking at his cheeks. “You deserve the world.” It’s slightly breathless and he pants lowly at the end, rubs his jaw with a smile so big it looks like it hurts. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Lex. You deserve _everything_.”

He breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? I know I promised angsty gawsten and a living room convo but that jalex scene...alex's kinda "outburst" so to speak, I've had that since march. I knew it was coming. This scene has been planned since then. I wasn't sure when to slip it in and now was the perfect time. so next chapter is the heavy living room convo for gerard, angsty gawsten, and some peterick. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would've been up a few weeks earlier; I had half the chapter a couple weeks ago, but then word crashed on me and I lost it and I've only just had time to rewrite it. school started for me as of september 4th, so things have been a little hectic.
> 
> trigger warnings - mentions of abuse, physical and sexual, homophobia, talk of conversion therapy camps, suicidal thoughts, depression, and eating disorders, specifically bulimia, particularly in the last scene.
> 
> enjoy.

“Is he okay?”

He lifts his head as Awsten comes back into the living room with a hand pressed against his abdomen. He doesn’t say a word until he’s walked over to Geoff and lowered himself into his lap. Geoff wraps his arms around him and kisses his hair before he speaks, “yeah. Jack actually kept him from having a full-on panic attack. It’s still bad, but…I think they’re gonna be okay. Jack needed to hear that. M’glad he said it.”

“It’s true.” He doesn’t register saying the words until he hears them leave his lips. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”

He drops his head down and forces himself to swallow, squeezes his eyes shut as he feels the liquid travel down his throat. It collects in the pit of his stomach stickily, forms a sheer layer over everything else and just stays there, hiding in plain sight, reminding _what did you just do you shouldn’t have said anything fuck up fuck up fuck up_ -

It wasn’t supposed to hurt this bad.

It wasn’t _still_ supposed to hurt this bad.

It’s been three years. 

It’s been three years since he’s called those four walls home, three years since the beat in his chest matched the breath in his lungs and everything felt like it was going to stop. There was no air and he couldn’t find anymore anywhere, like it had all been vacuum sucked into a vortex and he was on his knees, panting, choking, _chasing_ , letting the flames lick at his arms _please I can’t do this I can’t breathe please I need it pleasepleaseplease_ -

It’s been three years since his world felt like it was falling apart, like someone had taken a hammer to his life and smashed it into pieces and a new one was snatched from him each day. He was sprawled out and splayed on the floor, eyes squeezed shut, limbs clenched as much as possible, trying to cling onto the rest of what he had left. A new piece was a new cut; a new ridge in the rut he was falling into _this is your life_ you’ll never get out _this is your life_ you’ll never get out _this is your life_ you’ll never get out-

And he didn’t. The waistband slipped down to his ankles and _it burned it hurt it hurt so fucking bad it wouldn’t stop he wouldn’t stop it hurt_ \- and his head slammed against the wall and everything went so fuzzy afterward; he was a participant in the process, unable to protest, a fly on the wall to the body she proceeded to transgress.

“Gee?” 

“Whoa, what’s going on?”

“Hey, you okay?”

He blinks rapidly, allows the room to focus back into view, and stares straight ahead. He trains his gaze on the blank wall and feels his heart skip, pause for the slightest part of a second and then continue running. The back of his shirt feels wet against his skin and his entire body is heavy. It hurts to hold it up. It hurts to breathe. It hurts. 

“Y-yeah,” he forces out. Frank is standing next to his chair with his hand on his back. He drops his head and bites down on his lip. _Nonono please I’m sorry I didn’t want to do this I’m sorry I didn’t wanna do this to you I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry_ \- “F-fine.” He plasters a small smile on his face and swallows again.

 _Please_ -

“You sure, kid?” Lucas asks. 

“Yeah,” he repeats. Frank kneels next to him and wraps his arm around his back. He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his head down _don’t flinch don’t flinch nonononono_ \- “D-don’t.” He shrugs out of Frank’s grip and shakes his head. “I’m fine. Really.”

“O-okay.” Frank’s voice seems to drop about ten levels, almost bordering on a whisper. His eyes are wide and his arm is frozen midair. 

“No.”

Kellin glares at him from across the circle, pushes himself back against the back of his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not doing this. Not again. Don’t you remember what happened the _last time_ you kept shit from him?”

He bites down on his lip, presses hard enough until he tastes the copper, and only then looks up to meet Kellin’s eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know that you’re being an ass,” Kellin replies. “And ass to us and an ass to Frank. You said you’d change. He deserves better.”

“Shut up, Kellin,” he mutters. He’s too hot for this. The heat is baking up his back, travelling in waves and dampening his shirt against his skin all over again. His heart is back to running and the saliva feels too heavy in his stomach. “You have no idea what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.”

He doesn’t say more.

He _can’t_.

It’s been three years.

 _It’s been three years_.

…

Awsten wakes up screaming.

He has, for probably the fifteenth night in a row, by now. He wakes up in midst the throes of a nightmare, forces his body up and off the bed – much too fast for his broken ribs to handle – panting and heaving and choking on breaths he’s barely able to take in in the first place. 

Some nights he talks; the words spill out of him like water, dribble down his skin and dampen the atmosphere around them, poke a hole through their soft solace of sleep. Some nights he isn’t too scared and it isn’t too much and he’s able to tell _Geoff, no one will ever love me. That’s what he said. No one will ever love me like this. I’d be better off suicidal and straight than a filthy fucking_ faggot. 

He’s always said the word with such emphasis, such force, like a little of his father has crept in and leaped into his voice, added a voce to his own internalized homophobia and made the demons that much more real. 

And Geoff tries.

He tries in whatever way he can, tries to hold Awsten and calm him down and talk him through every panic attack, coax him through the chaos and bring him back down to earth. 

_I feel like I’m floating._

_What?_

Awsten would always smile then. He’d shrug his shoulders and shake his head and force a small smile onto his face. _When I’m havin’ a panic attack. I can’t breathe and it feels like there’s no more air left, like someone’s sucked it all up and there’s nothing left for me and I’m dying. That’s what it is. I feel like I’m dying. I’m floating out of my body and nothing feels real and it’s all so scary and that’s why when you hold me it helps._

He’d pull Awsten into his lap at this point, need to hold him close and keep him there. He can’t keep him safe but he can feel like he is for those short moments, so he does. _It really helps that much?_

 _They didn’t touch me._ Awsten’s voice went quiet, like it always did when he talked about the camp. _I didn’t touch anyone. I didn’t see anyone. The only contact I got was when they shocked me. So I just…it helps. Trust me. It does._

And that’s what he does now, pushes up onto his elbows beside Awsten and leans in, winds one arm around his shaking shoulders and eases him back. The one motion is enough; Awsten becomes pliant, goes into his arms easily, buries his face in the crook of his neck and continues to shake.

It’s so hard that he’s almost vibrating. His tears are soaking into Geoff’s shirt and his grip on the back of the fabric is tightening. Geoff forces himself to swallow and shifts his arms around to pull Awsten into his chest. “You’re okay. Breathe. It was just a dream, love, okay? It’s not real.”

“H-He- I- it wouldn’t- wouldn’t s-stop…”

“I know.” He tries to keep his voice level as he continues to rub Awsten’s back. “I know.”

…

“They were fighting.”

“Hm?”

Patrick’s voice is small as he continues, bordering on a whisper. “Moms. It was about Awsten, I think. How ta get him back. They were fighting and they were so angry and I was so scared, and I just…” He trails off. “I was back there. I was back there all over again and I couldn’t do anything about it and it just got worse.”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” he says. He tilts his head down and cranes his neck to press his lips against Patrick’s hair. “We’ll talk to Lucas and you can tell him everything and he’ll tell you what you can do. And I’ll figure out how to help too and it’ll all be okay, ‘trick. I promise it will. Now that I know, I can try ta help make things better.”

Patrick says nothing. He sighs and shifts his body just the slightest bit closer. His arm is draped very loosely across Patrick’s torso, closer to his upper chest, nowhere near his stomach. He’s been moving farther and farther down, a couple of centimeters every few minutes. 

He isn’t sure what he’s doing. 

He isn’t sure he’s _ever_ known what he’s doing. 

Patrick’s eating disorder has always been _his_ demon, his demon that he’s dealt with alone. He’s trudged through the mud and climbed up the hill and surpassed every new mountain that’s risen up to harass him. He’s done it and he’s done so well at it that some days it doesn’t feel real. Some days he looks at Patrick and can’t help but smile, can’t help but reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers and raise them to his lips and remember, _I’m dating the strongest, bravest, kindest boy ever and I am so lucky to have him. I am so lucky to love him._

He remembers when it was just starting.

He remembers the first date they went on and the first time they kissed. The box of those memories is closest to the surface, bubbling up from the hollows of his chest and staying afloat, there for the bad days and sad alike. It’s the box he goes to when he needs to remember why he forges on, when the days are hard and the nights are harder and every bright light seemed to turn much darker. 

Patrick has always been the type of person to handle things on his own. Pete knows that. He’s known since the beginning; since Patrick freaked out the first time he’d accidentally brushed against his stomach and avoided him for three days after. His body is a complicated beast that Pete has stopped bothering to try to poke because it isn’t worth it. Patrick has a handle on things. It isn’t worth fighting for no reason.

But he remembers what it was like in the beginning. 

They had just started dating and Patrick was waning, retreating back into himself and curling up, trying to shove the dark parts of him into a container and push it deep into the hollows of chest, like they were the forbidden fruit Pete couldn’t help but go after, housed inside his own Pandora’s box, silent and slow-moving until released into the world.

He’s told him a lot more since then.

There have been a lot of late night conversations and unexpected declarations; _I don’t think I’m better. I eat and I don’t purge but I still look in the mirror and see a whale so has anything really changed? They think I’m better but I still feel the same._

And he’s glad Patrick is talking to him. 

That night in the bathroom was the biggest step he’s taken in a very long time.

He kisses the side of Patrick’s face again, curls closer and pulls him into his chest. He tightens the arm draped loosely across Patrick’s chest and shifts it down the slightest bit more, brushes his stomach and stops. 

Patrick stiffens against him, but he doesn’t move.

 _He doesn’t move_. 

Pete smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? I don't know how many of you have picked up on it, so I may as well tell you...Patrick's entire storyline is revolving around "triggering" someone. Society's made that word a synonym for being offended. I wanted to run with it and show people that the reality of being triggered is this. One fight, that one argument between Jordan and Quinn, triggered all of this. It's a very important word for people who suffer from mental illness and I hate what society has turned it into, so I wanted to subtley mention that through this story. 
> 
> Next chapter, more on Gerard and what's going on inside his head (and maybe some detail on how Frank reacted to his outburst), some Jalex (healing, happy Jalex; I know y'all have missed that), and Awsten has a therapy session. The more comments I get, the quicker it's yours. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, mentions of abuse, panic attacks, and mentions of depression

Alex is different. 

And granted, it’s not a _bad_ kind of different, not like he has been the past couple weeks. He’s not curling into himself and pushing his shoulders down, tugging at his sleeves and staring at everyone with tears in his eyes and a precariously wobbling lip. He’s not shaking like a leaf and shoving everything below his chest, into a box that lies beneath. 

He’s not hiding, but he’s not crying either. Jack thought he would. He thought they’d fall back into place, back into the grove their relationship had settled into, sit back in the armchair and enjoy the warmth and revel in all the things that made it home. He thought things would be the same, imagined the garden of flowers once more, stared at the weeds that looked just the slightest bit overgrown, and smiled. 

This feels like home. This love, this life, this _thing_. he’s built with Alex…it feels like coming home after the longest day and slumping into that cozy armchair, curling up in front of that warm fireplace, tangling their legs together in the messy sheets, like one moment of peace has emerged amongst all the panic and he can let himself relax and breathe through it. 

He thought he’d feel different, go back to feeling the way he did when he saw Alex in that hospital bed, the way he did when the ground seemed to crumble underneath him and debris rained down on his forehead, _I don’t know what to do I don’t know how to help this is all too much and I can’t fix it I can’t fix it I can’t_ \- 

He can’t fix it.

And Alex seems to get that now, seems to climb up and curl in and press cheek to chest without a word, without spilling the bucket of his problems and drenching Jack back down, pulling him into a trench he’ll never wrench himself from. 

Because he can’t fix anything. He can’t fix Alex and he can’t fix himself. He can’t erase what’s happened or go back in time and divert all of it. He doesn’t have a magic wand, doesn’t have the power to change the past, knows that if he did he would’ve made his thighs smaller and his waist thinner and pushed his stomach in, hollowed out his cheekbones and reduced the fucking flab on his arms, picked and pushed and prodded until he was perfect, until pretty was no longer the ledge he continued to climb, until he reached the top and penetrated the rock and proclaimed, pretty. Pretty. _Pretty_.

Until pretty wasn’t a ledge and perfect wasn’t the goal and his insides no longer felt like they were being reined down on with coal. 

_Pretty._

_Pretty._

_Perfect_.

“You okay?” Alex nudges him and he blinks, shakes his head to clear it and drops it down to rest against Alex’s hair. “You’re all red.”

His cheeks feel hot. He lifts a hand to his face and exhales, presses his lips against the crown of Alex’s head and closes his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. Thinking.”

“I love you,” Alex ventures. He turns his head at the same time Jack puckers his lips, and Jack smiles into it, cups Alex’s cheeks and presses their foreheads together when they break. Alex pecks his cheek softly and traces his fingers down the side of his face. “Can I help?”

“Doubt it,” he mumbles, honestly. “I don’t…it’s a lot. It’s _all_ a lot and I don’t know what to do. I feel like everything’s crumbling around me and I can’t hold it all up and I don’t know what to do.”

“Let go.” 

He blinks and stares at Alex, brushes a piece of hair behind his ear and forces down a swallow. “W-what?”

Alex smiles tightly. “One day my dad would be too drunk ta remember I existed and the next I’d get beat so bad Ri had ta force me ta the hospital. And I didn’t…I didn’t have any control?” He looks down at his lap. “I didn’t know what was happening. My life wasn’t…it wasn’t mine anymore. And it sucked really bad and I still have nightmares that he’s trapping me in a box and pushing the sides in, even now, but I guess it was kinda a blessing too, ‘cause I learned ta just go with shit. Every day is a lot and trying ta control all of it is impossible.”

“Lex-”

“You can’t fix everything,” Alex continues. “You can’t fix me. And you can’t fix yourself, not on your own. It’s okay to admit that. You shouldn’t have to do it on your own. You’re _not_ on your own, and you never will be.” 

“I love you,” is all he can force out. The ache behind his skin is becoming more pronounced by the second. He wants it to stop. He doesn’t know why it hurts this much. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t havta be sorry.” Alex reaches for one of his hands and squeezes. “All you’ve been doin’ is tryna help. But it’s okay ta need help too, Jay. It’s okay to need everyone as much as we need you. It’s okay.”

He swallows.

…

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Geoff.”

“I can come down with you and just stay, not say any-”

He sighs and shakes his head, holds open his arms and closes his eyes. He waits for Geoff to walk into them, and when he does, squeezes and presses his lips against his cheek. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t havta babysit me. It’s just therapy.”

“It might trigger you.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s supposed to. It’s _therapy_. It’s how I get better. I needa move past this shit, Geoff. I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep- can’t keep _feeling_ like this.” He swallows against the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears back. Geoff tangles a hand through his hair and he leans into it. “I love you. But I needa do this on my own, okay?”

“I love you too,” Geoff replies. Geoff cups his cheeks as he blinks at him, and he leans in to press their lips together firmly. He wraps his arms around Geoff’s back, just underneath his underarms, and smiles into it. “I’m so proud of you, sunshine.”

“M-me too,” he forces out. “I think.”

That’s what he leaves Geoff with, doesn’t wait for an answer, turns and heads for the basement door. He drapes an arm across his abdomen as he walks down the stairs and bites his lip when the ache flares. It’s like an almost dead fire that’s newly sparking because he’s throwing more wood into it. The embers are burning and his stomach is churning, _you have to do this you can’t back out now you have to do_ this-

“Awsten, hey, kiddo. There’s a chair right here, you’re almost there, that’s it.”

He lowers himself into it with a wince and leans back against the pillow. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Lucas replies. “I could’ve come to you.”

“S’okay.” He shakes his head and straightens against the back of the chair. “Won’t get better if it doesn’t hurt.”

“Where do you wanna start today, kid?” Lucas leans back in his own chair and crosses one leg over the other. “Pick up where we left last time, or…?”

“I keep havin’ nightmares,” he admits. His back is starting to get hot, like someone’s pouring hot amber on his back, starting at the bottom and working their way up. The heat is consuming, sticking his shirt to his skin and dampening his forehead. His hands are starting to shake. “And it’s like, every night, I’m back there. I can’t leave. I can’t move. He’s there and it…it _happens_ , all over again, and I can’t escape. And then I wake up in the middle of a panic and of course Geoff’s there like he always is, but he can’t keep doing this every night. I can’t keep doing this every night.”

“You know too well that nightmares are a symptom of PTSD,” Lucas replies. “Remember when Geoff was having really bad ones? It’s like that. We can try some medication, if you’re up for it, but that’s not a permanent solution. Trying to control your breathing and stay calm while you’re asleep has also been proven to help with nightmares. There are also…” He trails off and shakes his head. “There’s a lot we can try. My only worry is doing too much too fast. Trauma is messy, and it’s different for everyone. I don’t want to force you into something you’re not ready for.”

“I’m ready for this to go away,” he mumbles. He tangles his fingers together and clenches them, feels the minor ache and squeezes his eyes shut in time with it. “M’so sick of being scared all the time. I don’t wanna feel it anymore. I’ll do whatever I havta, ta make it stop.”

“It’s not gonna be easy.”

“I don’t care.”

…

It doesn’t feel real.

It happened, he knows that much – Ashton’s face is all the proof he could ever need – but it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like it happened it doesn’t feel like himself it doesn’t feel like he actually reached out and _slapped his boyfriend_ because he was so angry he couldn’t breathe.

It’s the worst horror movie he wants to erase from his memory, too scary and too unimaginable to think about, the ones where you run into your bedroom and jump into bed and pretend you’ll be able to stop thinking about it and actually fall asleep. It’s the movies that haunt you, the ones you never see coming, when you could be doing a random thing on a random day and then remember something from the film and feel the reaction so viscerally as it runs through your entire body. It happens and it affects all of him and he can’t breathe around the weight.

He doesn’t know what to do.

How do you even _begin_ to apologize for something like this? How do you come back from any of it? How is Ashton _ever_ supposed to trust him again?

“I didn’t mean to,” he forces out, speaks into the dark room and clutches his covers tighter in his fists. _Didn’t mean to didn’t mean to didn’t mean to_ \- 

He doesn’t know what happened he doesn’t know how it happened one second everything was too red and too hot and the walls were closing in and he couldn’t breathe and then it all stopped and Ashton was on the floor and the world had risen up and knocked him on his ass _he doesn’t know what happened he doesn’t know how it happened he doesn’t know_ -

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

He doesn’t know if he even _can_. 

But now Jordan and Quinn want to talk to him and his session with Lucas was moved up and everything is changing so fast _how did this happen how did this happen how the fuck did this happen-_

 _Why would he forgive you why would he even want to be with someone like you why would he put himself through that again it’s not worth taking the risk_ you’re _not worth taking the risk stupidstupidstupid-_

_Do you really think he’ll actually take you back after all this you stupid piece of shit he’s gonna run he’ll never come back he doesn’t love you anymore you fucked up you fucked up you really fucked up this time you just lost the best thing that’s ever happened to you you stupid piece of shit stupidstupidstupid-_

Ashton’s been walking around with a handprint on his cheek for three days and each new hour sets his chest ablaze, _you did this to him it’s your fault you did that you_ hit _him what the fuck is wrong with you¬_ -

The new embers keep sparking, starving his body of solace, setting everything on fire once more. The flames lick up his chest and he doesn’t fight, lets them burn and singe and turn everything he is into a crisp with only a tinge of reminder of who he used to be. 

That person is gone.

It’s all gone.

_You hit him._

_You hit him._

_You fucking_ hit _him._

 _Ididn’tmeanto_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I know I said there'd be a Gerard scene, but I realized that there was no reflection on Calum's part after what happened with Ashton, so I needed to put that in instead. The Gerard scene will be in the next chapter, along with a Peterick therapy scene and Calum meeting with Jordan and Quinn. I might squeeze his therapy session with Lucas in too. But y'all know the deal, the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a month. but this chapter is 3000+ words, so i hope that makes up for it. 
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of self-harm, depression, eating disorders (bulimia), and mentions of suicide.

“This was a bad idea.”

“Babe-”

“I never should’ve said anything.”

“’Trick-”

“I can’t do this.”

Pete reaches over and grabs his wrist as he tries to move, presses him against his chair and affixes him with a glare. “Don’t even think about it. You’re not gettin’ away that easy.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he repeats. His voice breaks. The word ends on a sob. It feels like someone tore his chest open, like they took a hammer and went to town and now he’s returning to all the broken fragments, trying to pieces of what’s left and arrange them into some semblance of breath.

Shards are dangling by threads and the entire thing feels split open; he was whole and then he wasn’t, a personality and then merely an existence, a person and now simply a problem. 

He’s never cut before. He’s thought about it so many times, but the actual idea of taking a razor blade and dragging it through his skin is a reality he can’t quite commit to. It’s as final as a tattoo, slicing through your skin and leaving the mark there forever, memorializing the pain and localizing it to a singular spot on your body, permanently etching the memories against a tree that will not grow over and hide them as it grows up. Skin isn’t like that. 

He’s never done it but he’s imagined it for so long, imagined slicing through the top and bottom of his stomach, through the skin and the fat and every layer underneath, through everything that makes him nothing, one swipe of the knife and maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally be something.

He’ll finally be something. 

Something other than pinched skin and piling puke and promises that tomorrow will be better, promises that he won’t eat as much this time, promises that it’ll all end.

It never does. 

“So, what’s up? I kinda have an idea of what this is about, but…Pete, you’re the one who asked to do this, why don’t you explain?”

He’s floating in two separate universes, bouncing in the mid-limbo between reality and the vat figments of his fantasy have just begun to open up. It’s a hole he climbs into on a daily basis, falls down and makes himself home at the bottom, lets the dark, the scary, the _painful_ , wrap their talons around him and squeeze until he’s nothing more than a mound of saggy skin. 

He doesn’t hear what Pete says. It’s like he’s underwater and the voices are morphing around him, surrounding everything and drowning out the world. Everything’s blurry and fuzzy and floating and he can’t see.

There’s too much happening and it’s all going on at once it’s al happening at the same time _fast too fast fast too fast fast too fast too fast too fucking fast_ \- he squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fingers, digs his nails into his palms. There’s pressure on his back and someone is talking to him, but he can’t understand what they’re saying _he can’t understand anything he can’t_ \- 

He forces in a breath that feels like antiseptic against his fragmented bones, stings first, then cools and starts to repair the damage. The pain starts to ease as he breathes, takes in more air and lets it go everywhere, water every pain plant and press them under the earth for the next time his panic takes control. 

“Patrick? Kid, hey, you okay?”

“S-Sorry,” he mumbles. “C-couldn’t- couldn’t breathe.”

“I know.” Pete is kneeling next to his chair now, one hand on his back, still rubbing soft, firm circles against his skin. “You went white and dropped your head and I knew it was happening again.”

“I never used ta panic this much,” he mumbles. “I don’t- I never used ta do a lot of this. It never used to be this bad. I don’t know what happened or what went wrong or why I’m like this, now, but it…it never used to be this bad.”

“Sometimes triggers can set off a snowball effect,” Lucas says. “It’s just one small thing, one scene in a movie, or a harmless song, or someone’s voice changing, and you think it’s not gonna be a big deal. You’ll get over it in a couple days, maybe a week, and everything will go back to normal-”

“But it didn’t,” he interrupts. “And I kept waiting for it to, like, I’d wake up every morning _hoping_ , that I wouldn’t feel like I did the day before. I wouldn’t feel as _bad_ , as I did the day before. I thought it would pass but it didn’t and it clearly won’t and I guess I just- I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Here, think about it like this.” Lucas reaches up to pull his beanie off and rake his fingers through his hair. “When you’ve been through something traumatic, one of your body’s natural responses is to lock it up. Put it in a little box at the back of your mind and leave it there. And it stays there, while you recover and start to go back to your life and do everything as you would normally. But then something triggers it. Something opens that box and everything that was in it comes spilling out. You’re trying to do your thing and live your normal life, but that box has been opened and everything’s coming out at once, and dealing with that…it can really fuck you up.”

“What do I do about it?” 

“Well, for starters, you tell someone. Something just triggered you and you’re falling back into old mindsets – and old habits, for that matter – and those can be really hard to pull yourself out of. I don’t think this has happened to you before? Not this bad, at least?” Pete nods at that, and Lucas sighs. “Yeah. So you guys couldn’t have seen it coming. But at least, for the future, you-” He looks at Pete. “Will be able to tell. Even if he can’t. You’ll know the signs.”

“How do I help him?” Pete asks. “Is there anything I can do?”

“The world sucks,” Lucas answers. “And triggers…most times, they’re not things you can live your life and avoid. They’re random and they can happen so suddenly – the worst ones are the ones you don’t expect – so when they do happen…you just gotta take care of him. And you, Patrick, you need to take care of yourself. Let yourself feel things while they happen, but let Pete in and let yourself take the breather your body needs. You’re more than what you’ve been through and so much stronger than your past, and I promise it won’t be as bad some day.”

…

“Just say it.”

“Hm?”

“Get it over with,” he mumbles. He doesn’t turn to look at them, stays on his side with his head turned to the opposite wall. “You’re gonna scream at me. Just do it.”

“I don’t know about you,” Quinn says. “But I have never screamed at any child in this house. Have you, hun?”

“Never,” Jordan replies. “And I definitely don’t think we’re about to start.”

“Cal, love, no one’s here to yell at you. That’s not gonna do either of us any good. We just want to talk about what happened, and what happens next. This isn’t something we can just ignore. You know that.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He sits up and turns, finally, to look at them. “I didn’t mean to I don’t know what happened I was just so angry and it all happened so fast and I didn’t even know it happened until I saw him on the floor and it still didn’t feel real it didn’t feel like I could do that I couldn’t do that I couldn’t I-” He has to stop, put a hand on his chest and gasp for breath. It’s like a garden of pain plants has blossomed, parched and pleading for more than they’re getting, _it hurts it hurts make it stop it hurts_ \- 

“Sweetheart, hey, breathe. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Take some deep breaths for me, love, just try and focus on that.” 

He does. He tries. The world starts to stabilize in front of him. Everything isn’t spinning. Colors are where they’re supposed to be. He breathes. “I don’t- I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I did it. I didn’t think I could do something like that and then I saw him on the ground and I just…” The sob bubbles up his throat and he shakes his head, lets the tears roll down his cheeks, drip off, and cling to his neck. “I can’t get his face outta my head, fuck, he looked so scared.”

“Cal-”

“He looked so scared, of _me_.” His voice breaks. “And I don’t…I…I think I was scared of me, too.”

“Oh, love…” 

“Come here.” Quinn pulls him against her side and he closes his eyes, buries his face into her shoulder and lets Jordan take his free hand. “You weren’t in control. You couldn’t control it. It wasn’t you, in there, Cal. You weren’t thinking because you’d totally lost control. You never would’ve hit him if you knew what was going on. But you didn’t.”

“I don’t know why,” he mumbles, voice muffled against her skin. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve got an appointment with Lucas first thing tomorrow,” Jordan says. “And I’m sure he’ll be able to explain it a lot better than I can, but…with bipolar disorder, there are depressive episodes, but there are also something called manic episodes. Mania.”

“The depressive episodes are a lot more common,” Quinn adds. “Which is why it’s so much harder to deal with manic ones. They’re random, and uncontrollable, and a lot more difficult to treat.”

“It’s different for everyone. This shit usually is. No two people have the same experience, and that makes it so much harder to handle. There’s no ‘one size fits all’ treatment plan. Lucas has to tailor something specifically to you.” Jordan squeezes his hand. He lets out a shaky breath against Quinn’s shoulder, keeps his eyes closed and tries to slow his heart rate down. He wants to sleep. This is too much. He wants to sleep.

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Quinn pulls him closer and presses her lips against the top of his head. “We’ll think about it tomorrow, okay? You’ve had a long couple days, love. Why don’t we call tonight an early one?”

“A-Ash…” The words hurt coming up. His voice breaks. The pinprick of pain comes almost immediately to his eyes, tears tearing their way through and streaming to the surface. 

He’s waited every night. It’s been almost a week since everything happened, and he keeps waiting, anticipating, _please Ash, come back to me. Come talk and cuddle and sleep and listen, I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it Ididn’tmeanto_ \- 

His eyes feel like they’re going to fall back inside his head and his body is too heavy to hold up any longer. There’s an ache right behind his forehead, a pocket of pain pressed between skin and skull, barely managing to keep itself contained in the paper thin wrapping. It’s about to pop and explode and send its contents careening against his skull, paint layers of pain that are far too much and too heavy and too deep for his brain to even comprehend right now. 

He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep.

He doesn’t remember anything after.

 _I didn’t mean it I didn’t mean it Ididn’tmeanit_ -

…

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

He doesn’t know what’s happening.

He doesn’t know how his life has devolved into this, how the transition from peace to panic, preying on pieces of his picked apart mind has pulled him back into this pitfall once again. 

It happened so fast. He didn’t even realize it when it was changing, didn’t feel it or fear it or even think about it, didn’t register that something was wrong until Frank screamed bloody murder and he was back, back in the hole with _them_ scraping at the door, _shutupdon’tsayanythingdon’tletthemfindyoubequietshutupshutup_ -

He was back there for a moment that’s determined to last a lifetime. It’s claws that wrap around his neck and drag him backward every time he tries to push past, talons that tangle themselves into his skin and squeeze him into the floor, _you’ll never escape. You’ll never escape. This is your life now and you’re stuck with it_.

“Whoa, dude, gimme that.”

He blinks, lets his vision focus back in on the room and the pillows against his back and how much his knees hurt from the position he’s twisted them into, and most importantly, the sharp piece of metal he’s turning over and over in his palms. Its surface is warm against his skin, and then when he flips it over, he feels it start to cool against his heat and mold to his body temperature. “Relax. M’not gonna do anything.”

“You’re thinking about it.” Vic crosses the room and joins him on the bed, keeping his arm stretched out, palm facing the ceiling. “Trust me, man. I get it. But it’s not the answer and you know it.”

“If you really got it, you’d know why I don’t give a fuck,” he mutters. _You’ll never escape this is your life now this is what you’re stuck with forever this is what you’re stuck with forever this is your life now this is your life_ \- 

“You’re a stubborn piece of shit,” Vic deadpans. “I get that. I am too. But you’re freakin’ everyone out, Gerard. Ya can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing _what_?” He shifts against his pillows to sit up straighter and lifts his head to meet Vic’s eyes. “What’s everyone so up my ass for? We all have bad days. Shit’s hard right now. That’s not like, some kinda surprise. Happens all the time.”

“Someone almost died last time.” 

He stops.

It feels like fire, like he’s been doused in gasoline and someone just struck the match. It burns for only seconds before it cools and he can feel his shirt starting to stick to his skin. It’s as quick as the flip of a switch and he feels his breath hitch just in time with the skip of his heart. Everything happens so fast, all at once, colliding simultaneously into a cocktail that manifests itself in the lump someone shoved down his throat.

“S-Stop,” he manages. “Don’t…I know, okay? I know how bad he gets. I’m handling it. It’s okay.”

“Nothing about this is okay, man.” Vic scoots a bit closer and pulls his legs up onto the bed to sit cross-legged. “You’re not okay. And you can’t even try to be anymore, but you’re pretending you can for some stupid fucking reason and it’s making him think you don’t care about him anymore.”

“He knows I do.” Vic needs to stop. He needs to leave and he needs to stop _he has no idea what he’s talking about he’s gonna fuck something up because he’s just so fucking stupid and has to fucking stick his ass where it doesn’t belong he needs to stop he needs to_ \- “More than you, or Kellin, or whoever the fuck else sent you.”

“He rooms with Pete.” Vic’s voice hardens. The next words are cold. They sound as much. “And he’s been crying himself to sleep every night for the past week. Only you wouldn’t care, would you? Too wrapped up in your own shit to notice?”

“Are you saying I should be ignoring my shit for him?” Gerard shoots back. His heart is racing. It’s not what he wanted to say _FrankFrankFrank_ it’s not what he wanted where’s Frank what’s going on why does this always happen why can’t one thing be good in his life why does it always have to turn out like this _whywhywhy_ -

Vic sighs. “No, dude. Not at all. I’m saying…you gotta think about how Frank deals with shit. How he reacts ta shit. You know him well enough ta know how he’s gonna react if you get distant.”

“I can’t control this,” he mumbles. “I can’t control anything. It’s all coming back and everything’s such a mess and he doesn’t need this it’s not his shit to carry and I’m tryna get back but they keep pullin’ me in and I don’t know what to do anymore and it’s all just-” He cuts himself off with a heavy breath, dropping his head and panting, closing his eyes and trying, _you’re fine. Stop it. Breathe. You’re fine_.

“Whoa, breathe. You’re okay.” He feels the hand on his back and leans into it, lets himself slump further and push into his pillows. _Exhale. Another exhale. Breathe_. “That’s it. You’re doing good.”

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t- sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Vic stops rubbing his back and helps him sit up again. “I know the feeling.”

“I just- I guess I thought things would be easy.” Tears are burning at the corners of his eyes. He swipes his hand across and stares down at the liquid. “I thought after I got Mikey back my life would get better. But that was fuckin’ stupid and naïve and dumb and now it’s biting me in the ass. I got my hopes up but I’m never lucky enough for that, so…”

“You had hope. That’s not stupid.” Vic winds an arm around his shoulders and pulls him against his side. “Enough good happened to give you _hope_. That’s fuckin’ amazing. That’s how it should be all the time. But it isn’t, and that’s so shitty and I wish it was different. But Gerard…no one’s saying you gotta be in a good place. No one’s saying you gotta be _better_. You’re working on it. This is a bump in the road and you’ll get through it. You just…you gotta be honest with Frank. He’s got his own shit and you getting like this randomly _really_ freaks him out. Just be like, ‘hey, shit’s hard right now. I need some time to myself for a coupla days’. That’s what Kells and I do.”

“I didn’t…” He bites down on his lip and shakes his head. “I didn’t even think of that, fuck.”

“It’s a game changer.” Vic smiles. “I didn’t think it could be, but some days I’ll wake up in a horrible mood and just like, you know when you _know_ shit’s about ta get bad?” Gerard nods. “Yeah. I’ll text – or say it, but I usually end up texting ‘cause I don’t feel like talking – Kellin and tell him that I’m not in the mood ta talk about it, and he leaves me alone. Obviously we talk about it after, but…yeah. It really works.”

“I’m so used to being on my own, I guess I never thought…” 

“I get that.” He lifts his head to meet Vic’s eyes. “Trust me, I really do. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, leaving PTV and coming here…you don’t havta be. It’s not every man for himself, anymore. We got each other. And we got you, dude, while you sort all this out. We’re all rootin’ for you. Promise you that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? we're getting there. sorting through all the messy feelings. this chapter was heavy on the panic, and i get that, and i can understand why it would seem repetitive (as i was editing i was like neha tf why are you writing the same thing over and over) but as someone with pretty bad anxiety...the feeling is the same every time and it doesn't go away. you don't get used to it. the dumbest things set you off and it's so hard not to get like that. i'm trying to be as realistic as i can, so yeah, it's repetitive, but imagine living with it on a daily basis. that's what i'm trying to simulate.
> 
> anyway, next chapter we're going back to michael and luke, specifically, how luke is adjusting to being back at the house. it's cute and it's pillowtalk and y'all are gonna love it. gerard also (finally) pulls his head out of his ass and has an honest conversation with frank, there's another living room convo, and then calum has his therapy session. 
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours. (also it's nanowrimo which means a lot of writing on my part so...y'all can count on the next chapter being done within this week. it's up to you, how quickly y'all want it)
> 
> thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of eating disorders, suicide, mentions of self-harm, and mentions of physical harm (calum and lucas talk about what he did). 
> 
> happy thanksgiving, y'all.

It’s different.

He thought it wouldn’t be; he thought being back home, inserting himself into the empty space that has eclipsed his heart in the past few months, would make everything better. He thought it would get better, as quick as anything. Being with his parents was the thorn, the boulder, the drop of black paint that contaminated all the white and turned everything into a muddied-out grey mess.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to _think_ anymore. He doesn’t want to be left alone to ruminate, sit in his feelings and toy with his thoughts, _you just ruined years of progress in three months. You single-handedly destroyed every last bit of progress you made. Everything’s gone now. It’s ruined. You’re ruined. You have to start from the beginning. Don’t you remember how hard it was to get here? And now you have to start all over_.

He doesn’t know how to start all over. He doesn’t even remember how he got here. The therapy sessions feel like a blur, like he was existing and filling the space his body took while his head was somewhere else. He didn’t know recovery until it was in his rearview mirror, until people asked him how he got better and he didn’t have an answer. It happened and he didn’t know it when it was happening and now he needs to dredge up the solution and keeps coming up blank.

Anxiety is something you never really recover from, not completely. He knows that. Lucas told him and he knew beforehand; this is something he’s going to struggle with his entire life. _We can make it easier to handle, give you good enough coping mechanisms that you get so used to, panic attacks don’t feel as debilitating anymore, but there’s no cure for something like this, kiddo. I’m sorry_.

And he remembers that night, finishing his therapy session with a boatload of new solutions; _when you’re having a panic attack and you’re alone, I want you to try and tune everything out. The world is too loud at that point. It’s too much to focus on all of it. Think of four things you can see, then three things you can touch, two that you can smell, and one you can taste. When Michael or anyone’s with you, they’ll help you, but if you’re on your own, try and ground yourself like this. Your breaths will come easier soon, I promise_.

He crawled into bed beside Michael and repeated the words to him; _this is what you havta do now. When I turn into a mess like I always do._

_You’re not a mess, Lukey. You’ve been through a lot. None of this is your fault._

_I don’t want to be like this for the rest of my life_. 

“I don’t want to be like this for the rest of my life.”

“Hm?” Michael holds open his arms as he climbs up next to him. He kisses Luke’s forehead and Luke sighs, presses his temple against Michael’s shoulder and releases a heavy breath. “What’d you say?”

“I just…” He trails off and shakes his head. _You’re not going to cry right now. That’s the last thing anyone needs. You will not cry. You will not cry. You will not fucking cry_ \- “I don’t even know where ta go from here, Mikey. Like, fuck. Everything was so good and I was riding the high for so long, and yeah, I had shitty days, but for the most part…I was good. But now…I don’t- I don’t even know what that means anymore. It’s all gone. All of it.”

Michael is quiet for a few moments, tracing his fingers across Luke’s cheek and rubbing down his jawbone. Luke bites his lip and forces in another breath. _Weak. Pathetic. So fucking weak. You had to break the moment something bad happened, didn’t you? All that work for nothing_. 

“You lost a lot,” Michael admits. His lips brush against Luke’s head again. “You were in a really good place for a while and now that’s gone and I know that’s gotta feel so shitty. But babe…none of it is your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Right,” he mutters. “It’s their fault. Yeah. But who’s the one dealing with the damage? Who’s the one suffering in the end? Not them. _Me_.” His voice breaks on the last word and he squeezes his eyes shut, forces against the balloon of tears that’s threatening to pop. 

“It’s not fair,” Michael agrees. “I know. You don’t deserve this for a second, Luke. You _don’t_. But it’s gonna get better, okay? You’ve got the techniques you didn’t have when you were tryna deal last time. You’ve got me and everyone here – remember, you were so fuckin’ scared of all of us when you first came? That made it worse, didn’t it? – and it won’t be as hard this time, I promise.”

“I’m just so sick of things being hard.” 

He doesn’t feel it until they’re out there, until the words have left him and they’re hanging in the air and Michael is looking at him and everything is swelling upward, a chemical reaction that rushes and surges and overflows out the sides of the beaker. 

_I’m so sick of everything always being so hard._

_I’m so sick of everything always being so hard_.

…

“You did _what_?”

“I told him he was bein’ an ass,” Vic repeats. He shifts against Kellin and crosses one leg over the other. “Don’t gimme that look. He needed ta be put in his place. He wouldn’t have known if someone hadn’t said something.”

“Yeah, how much of a fucking _baby_ I am,” he spits out. He lifts a hand and watches his fingers shake, like his fingers are attached to a separate brain, borne with a mind of their own. He’s not panicking but his body is, like it knows what’s supposed to happen and has already begun to gear up for the process. Panic is permanent and his heart is far more than competent. “God, why the fuck did you havta-”

“Frank.” Vic sits up and reaches forward to put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. I just told him what he needed to hear, okay? I didn’t yell. _He_ didn’t yell. You guys are okay, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” he mumbles. “You don’t know Gerard like I do.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t know the late nights that almost always culminated in 3am fights, because Gerard never talked to him and he couldn’t stand to watch the love of his life suffer by himself, because the depths of his mind culminated in talons that stole all of his control, because the world had taken a baseball bat and wacked him with it and thrown the piece of wood directly into Gerard’s stomach, taking him out too.

“I don’t,” Vic replies. “You’re right. But I know when someone’s bullshitting me or bein’ genuine, and he wasn’t being a dick. He loves you, Frank. You gotta believe that.”

“He’s shitty at showing it sometimes.”

“Tell him that,” Kellin says from behind. “You gotta be honest with him. People aren’t mind readers. He doesn’t know you feel like shit about this unless you tell him.”

“What are we talking about?”

Jack joins them in the family room, and walks over to where Alex is lounging on the edge of the far couch, talking rapidly with Awsten. Awsten nods and laughs in response to something he says, and he reaches over to whisper something in his ear. Jack waits until he’s moved back, and then, in one motion, he reaches down and lifts Alex into the air, plops down underneath him and presses a kiss against the top of his head.

Frank bites his lip and moves his gaze to his lap, as Kellin fills Jack in.

It’s not his fault. He knows that. He knows that people are different and what worked for some won’t work for others he knows just because Alex and Jack bounced back doesn’t mean he and Gerard will he knows he’s dating a very different person he _knows_ -

It’s not his fault but the green knows no bounds. 

“Lucas is on his way. Cal, you’re gonna go first, and then Geoff, he asked to talk to you next. I said we’d skip on group today; I’m gonna order takeout and I thought we’d have an early movie night.” Quinn rests her palms on the back of the couch and looks out over the room. “Mom’s spending the night at Logan’s, so it’ll just be us.”

“Can I go to Ryan’s?” Brendon asks. “I haven’t seen him in a few days and I kinda…” He trails off, eyes on the floor. “I dunno. I’m sorry. I need him a lot and I’m never here and I know it sucks, but I just…”

“Of course you can.” Quinn rests a hand on his back and leans down to drop a kiss on the top of his head. “Don’t worry about it, love. I know you’re still tryna get through what happened. I’ll drop you off on my way ta pick up the food, alright?”

Everyone needs everyone else.

Everyone _gets_ to need everyone else.

And it’s so stupid and he shouldn’t be this upset about it he’s dating someone very different from Ryan or Alex or whoever the fuck but Gerard doesn’t fucking _talk_ to him and he thinks affection makes up for it but he hasn’t even been doing that lately and none of it makes sense and he doesn’t know why it’s happening _why can’t Gerard be like everyone else why does he always get the short end of the stick why does he always end up feeling like this_ -

It’s not fair. 

He always ends up here and it’s not fair and part of him can’t even be bothered to care anymore he’ll be dead in five years and Gerard won’t have to deal with him so _why should it matter why even bother getting upset about this there’s no point what’s the fucking point_ -

He swallows, forces himself to stop. He needs to stop. Stop talking and thinking and breathing the lie in every word, _yeah, everything’s okay. I ate a big breakfast this morning, y’know? Mama’s bacon’s too good to resist. I’m fine, I promise. I’m fine and Gerard’s fine; he’s going through some stuff and it sounds like a lot but I’m sure he’s dealing with it okay_.

Only he isn’t sure he doesn’t know he can’t understand Gerard won’t let him in nothing is working he thought it would nothing is changing _he thought it would nothing is the same he thought it fucking would_ -

Gerard is different but he hasn’t changed and it’s all the same but _he doesn’t want it to be but he doesn’t want it to be different either and it’s stupid and he’s stupid he doesn’t know what he wants he doesn’t know anything anymore nothing makes sense everything is spiraling out of control he wants it to stop it needs to stop he needs it to stop stopstopstop_ -

He doesn’t want to panic right now.

He _can’t_ panic right now.

 _Everything is happening too fast and it’s all too much and he doesn’t know what to do anymore Gerard is gone and he doesn’t know what to do anymore his life is not his own and he doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore_ -

It’s not fair.

…

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know _how_ it happened. I fuckin’- I can’t remember any of it, dammit. I can’t remember anything but I know that it _did_ happen and Ash hasn’t said a word to me since and this entire fucking house is looking at me like I’m some kinda monster and I’m _not_ I don’t know what happened I just-” 

He has to stop, has to inhale a very desperate gasp of air that leaves him panting, quenches the thirst of some, but not all of the pain plants in his chest. Some of them are still parched, stretching their leaves out for precious oxygen and lengthening their roots every passing second they don’t get it. The pain is everywhere and it’s stretching even farther and he doesn’t know how to make it stop he doesn’t know how to breathe properly anymore _it won’t stop_ -

“Breathe,” Lucas reminds. “You gotta calm down, Calum. You’re gonna work yourself into a full-blown panic and we _definitely_ won’t get anywhere, if that happens.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m trying. Fuck.” _Breath. Another breath. Keep breathing_.

“You’re okay.” Lucas reaches over to put a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe. Everything’s okay.”

“I just hate this.” He moves his gaze to his lap and traces at a loose thread on his jeans as he continues, “I hate that it happened, I hate that I did it, but most of all, I hate that something I can’t even fuckin’ _remember_ doing has probably fucking ruined my relationship. Ashton’s never gonna trust me again and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“If you do nothing,” Lucas replies. “Yeah, you’re right. If you don’t give him a _reason_ to trust you again, he won’t. Why should he? You hit him once. What’s stopping you from doing it again?”

“So why should he even stay with me?” They’re what he’s been thinking ever since the incident, but saying them out loud feels like part of him is gone, like the words have wrapped themselves around his heart and wrenched a piece away on their journey out. “Why should he even _want_ ta be with a fuckin’ abusive piece of shit?”

“You’re not abusive, Calum.” Lucas’ voice is firm. “This wasn’t abuse. You didn’t abuse him.”

“I _hit_ him.” His throat is closing. He can feel the sob fighting its way through, being cut and torn against by the barriers in his chest but continuing on nonetheless. “I’m a monster.”

“You were having a manic episode,” Lucas explains. “With bipolar disorder, the reason people stereotype it as “crazy mood swings”-” He pauses to make the air quotes, “is because there are periods where you’re so depressed you can’t out of bed; so exhausted and miserable and unmotivated to even _live_ , and then some other days you’re super energetic and hyper and you wanna conquer the world and do all this crazy shit. But mania is different for everyone, and sometimes…it can manifest itself as extreme agitation or irritability. With everything going on in the trials, and all the shit that happened with Luke – and by extension Michael, since you guys are so close – that definitely explains it.”

“I’ve never had a manic episode before,” he whispers. His heart is racing. Everything feels different, like he’s entered a separate version of reality that culminates in fantasy; nothing is real and nothing is actually happening, everything is floating in this strange limbo that isn’t actually happening. It’s not happening. This is not happening. “They’ve all been depressive.”

“That’s the thing with this shit,” Lucas sighs. “Everything is random and unpredictable. You can’t tell. I’ve been on mood stabilizers for over fifteen years now. Obviously they’re not a cure, but they keep me balanced and prevent things like this from happening.”

“Can we seriously blame it on that?” He forces in a breath that cuts all the way down his throat. It’s too dry. Everything is too dry. “I hit him ‘cause my head’s fucked up? That makes no sense. I’ve _never_ been pissed enough, I would _never_ hurt…I just- fuck.” He rests his head in his hands and bites through his lip. When he speaks again, the words are garbled and full of tears. “I would never hurt him like that. I would never hurt _anyone_ like that.”

The sob comes, heavy and thick. He drops his face to his lap and hunches over, tries to muffle it back in and only succeeding in making the pain pop. “Fuck.”

“Hey.” He feels Lucas’ hand on his back, feels the circles he starts to draw and leans into the touch. “You wouldn’t. You would never hurt anyone on purpose. This wasn’t your fault, kiddo, okay? You weren’t in control. It happened, but you weren’t aware of what was going on and there was nothing you could do. You weren’t in control, okay? This was not your fault.”

“I _slapped_ him,” Calum cries. “I really fucking _slapped_ him.”

“You didn’t mean it. You didn’t know what you were doing.” Lucas pauses for a moment and lets his hand still. “Here, come up for a sec.” He reaches over to pull a couple tissues from the box and hands them to him. “Listen, okay? When I was- I think I was a little older than you at this point, it was like, right before I turned 20.” 

He smiles. “And like, you gotta understand, I really fuckin’ wanted kids. I always have. My parents were _so_ shitty, and I always told myself, if I made it outta there, _alive_ , I’d have kids of my own and treat them so fucking right. I wanted to prove ta myself that I wouldn’t be my dad. I _couldn’t_ be my dad.”

“Rave – my wife – she was really supportive of it,” Lucas continues. “We were high school sweethearts. I proposed the day of graduation. And I’d always talk about kids, so she was definitely on board. She just- she was kinda nervous, y’know? She thought she wouldn’t be a good mom, which is bullshit. And I told her that, but she was still pretty freaked out, so we decided to wait.”

“The first super bad manic episode I had – like, I’d had hypomanic ones before, but they weren’t terrible, so I didn’t think much of them – Rave and I were kinda…” He trails off with a shy smile. “We were having sex, and that particular day, all I could think about was having a kid. I just wanted a kid. And I was in that manic state where everything is amplified and you feel like you can do anything, and I-” He drops his voice, goes so low Calum wouldn’t be able to hear him if he weren’t sitting two feet away. “I almost raped her. She was saying no and I wasn’t listening and then I saw her face and she looked so fucking terrified.” He stops again, takes a breath and doesn’t speak for a moment. “And I just- I stopped. And I thought I ruined everything.”

“We have three kids,” Lucas says. “And everything’s okay. It wasn’t, not for a long time afterward. It took her so long ta trust me again. But I got her back and we got us back, and everything worked out. And then I learned what hypersexuality was and that it’s a symptom of mania, and I got on mood stabilizers immediately. I went to therapy and started takin’ my meds regularly, and I haven’t had an episode that bad ever since.” He takes a heavy breath and finally turns to meet Calum’s eyes. “It _is_ possible to come back from this. It’s possible to be in a relationship with bipolar disorder. But it takes a lot of fuckin’ work and it _always_ will. It won’t get easier, but you _can_ manage it. You _can_ make sure this never happens again.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? the origins of thanksgiving are lowkey shit and I don't like that part of it, but I just wanna say how grateful I am for all of y'alls continued support on this story. thank you for helping me make it into an entire universe. it has blossomed into something i never thought possible and that's mostly because of your hype/support and all i can say is thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> next chapter, a better living room convo than this chapter's (i know it was super heavy), jack and alex go back to therapy, and we check in with geoff, see how he's dealing with everything. spoiler: not in the best way
> 
> the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading (and once again, a happy thanksgiving to all of you. i appreciate you infinitely.)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. long time, no see. 
> 
> I'm sorry. I didn't write anything the first three weeks of december; this round of finals just about killed me, and ever since I've been home, I've been focused on finishing up a couple stories before the new year. I have a bunch of things I wanna start, but I didn't wanna leave too many things unfinished. 
> 
> trigger warnings: depression, mentions of anxiety, and jack gets a little panicky

“Take that, you bitch!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Why are you- you’re not playing Mario Kart, what?” He plops down on the couch next to Jack and leans into his side. “When did we get Super Smash?”

“Just bought it.” Jack’s eyes don’t leave the screen. “Target finally got it back in stock. I had to.”

“And now you _have to_ lose.” He can hear the smile in Geoff’s voice. He watches, as Geoff’s character aims another kick at Jack’s – he doesn’t even know who they are; they’re not playing as any Mario characters – and knocks him off the edge once more. “Is this the first fuckin’ time you’ve played this? Damn.”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m usually so fucking good at- fuck!” Jack groans and lets the controller hit the ground with a loud crash, as the round ends and declares Geoff the winner. “That’s the fuckin’ fifth time now.”

He rolls his eyes and wraps his arms around Jack’s middle. “You’ve played him _five_ times, and lost every one? Babe, I love you, but I…I think you really suck at this.”

“You think?” Geoff scoffs. “He does. He sucks at Mario Kart and he sucks at this. I don’t even know why he tries anymore.”

“He beat you yesterday.” 

“You-”

“Wait, _what_?”

“Geoff lost at something?” Pete joins them in the game room and grabs the back of one of the sofas to lift himself onto the edge. “Alert the fuckin’ media.”

“It was one race!”

“You don’t lose!”

“He did, yesterday.”

Jack retorts in protest once more, squirming against his grip. Alex smiles and presses his cheek against Jack’s back, tightens his hold on his waist and lets his eyes fall shut. He breathes in and lets the scent travel through, permeate every edge of his body until the entire house is light in chandeliers of warmth. He doesn’t ever want to turn them off. He doesn’t ever want to turn any of this off. 

If he could stay here, in this moment, forever, he’d be happy. He’d die happy. He didn’t think that would be possible, die happy and content amongst a world that was so determined to cause a dent, a pause in his personality and a glitch in reality, turn everything on its side in a universe that barely resembled his life.

And it’s the moments like these that stick out, poke their heads up above the abyss of agony and remind him, as he rakes over constant tragedy, _this will be your life one day. This will be_ all _of your life, one day. Without the blood and the panic attacks and waking up every day, wishing it was your last. This will be your life, one day. You just have to stick around to see it._

 _You just have to stick around to see it_.

To see himself, and Jack, in their own house, with the skylights and high ceilings and pale blue walls, reminiscent of the first time he walked these halls. Thinking back to that day feels like unzipping himself from this body and waking up in new skin, scarred skin, hands that shook every time he spoke up in conversation, no sign of vacation from the thoughts that ran, old and tired, across the ruts in his mind to wire him up once again. 

_You just have to stick around to see it_.

He blinks, feels one of Jack’s arms come up and around his torso, and shakes his head. “Sorry, I zoned out. You say something?”

“Love you,” Jack whispers against the nape of his neck. 

“I love you, too,” he replies. He turns his lips to press against Jack’s cheek and then leaves his face there, closes his eyes and inhales, presses his forehead into Jack’s skin and lets his entire body relax.

_This will be your life, one day._

_You just have to stick around to see it_.

…

“I like taking care of people.”

He bites his lip and keeps his gaze on his lap as he speaks, “I like knowing everyone’s okay, and if they’re not, I wanna do something about it. Even if it’s just crawling into bed with them for a night so they wake up next to someone and know they’re not alone. And I know it doesn’t do shit, most of the time, but it’s _something_. I can’t do nothing. I can’t think about me and my shit while people are hurting, ‘cause I know I’m supposed to be doing something, and if I don’t, it makes me feel even more useless, I guess.”

“So, when Alex didn’t tell you he was still cutting himself, you-”

“I still don’t get it.” He shakes his head and turns to face Alex. “I don’t, Lex. I don’t know why you wouldn’t talk to me. I don’t know why you kept it from me. You’re not stupid; you knew your cuts were infected, and you still didn’t fucking say anything! I don’t get why.”

“Because I _want_ you ta care about yourself!” Alex exclaims. “You think I don’t know what you do, Jay? I’ve been confused about it since my fucking first day here. You care about everyone else, _except_ yourself, and I didn’t want you ta do that anymore. I _don’t_ want you to worry about me before yourself, anymore.” He sighs and looks back down at the floor. When he speaks again, it’s much quieter. Jack has to lean forward to hear him. “You’re too important to me, for that.”

“I don’t, okay?” He mutters. “I don’t fucking care about myself. Sorry that’s such an inconvenience for you, but I don’t fucking give a shit about me and I don’t remember the last time I did. That’s just the way it is.”

“Why, Jack?” Lucas holds up a hand and scoots forward in his chair. “Stop for a second. Think about it. Why don’t you care about yourself?”

“Why doesn’t Alex talk to me?”

Everything is hot. His skin feels too tight. The bugs are stinging and everything is going too fast he hates this he hates that he gets like this _why can’t you just be fucking normal why do you have to panic every time you talk about yourself why are you such a fucking basket case all the time fucking stupidstupidstupid_ \- 

His shirt is sticking to his back and he can feel ice running down the rest of his body. It’s hot and then it’s cold, going from fully clothed in a sauna to naked in the middle of the Arctic in seconds. It always happens like this. He hates it.

“-you, Jack, This is about you. And kid, I know it’s hard to talk about. I know it’s scary. I know it hurts. But you wanna get better, don’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything.

He can’t. Every time he goes to try and open his mouth, the snarling demons rake their claws into his voice and drag it back down, tear out pieces of his vocal chords and cut the entire thing into shreds. 

“Jack?” Alex scoots closer on the couch, grabs for one of his hands and holds it in both of his. “You want to get better, right?”

“I j-just…” The words come, final, punctuated by a choked sob. His chest burns. “No one’s ever cared. My mom didn’t care. I was born and she didn’t care. And my dad didn’t, either. I don’t even know _who_ he is. And they were _supposed_ to care. And you, and moms, and everyone here…none of you are. You’re not supposed to be here, and you say you want to be but, the people who were supposed to be left, so what’s stopping you from leaving too?” His voice cracks. The ache is rising to the surface. His vision is blurry. “So I try, ta make myself important enough that you’ll need me, and maybe then, you won’t leave. But you didn’t tell me you needed help and I was so scared and I just- if you don’t need me,” he forces out. “What’s stopping you from leaving me?”

…

“I’m just gonna go for a walk, okay?”

“Sure, love.” Quinn glances at him briefly, and then turns her gaze back to meet his eyes. “Take a jacket. It’s still pretty chilly out. Dinner won’t be ready for another hour, but I’d like it if you were back by then.”

“I will be,” he says, pulling his jacket off the hook in the same motion. He slips it on one arm and reaches for the door handle with the other, inhales heavily against the cold winter air as he steps out of the house. 

He wraps his arms around himself as he starts down the sidewalk, forces down a swallow and turns his face upward, into the frosty chill that’s batting at his skin and bringing tears from within. 

It hurts.

All of it does, all the time. And he’s not quite sure when that happened, when he drifted from hope to hurt, and how long he’s destined to stay in that realm of reality. He doesn’t know when it all evaporated, when he lost himself amongst plans and presents and pride, for the future and the exorcism of the past and the culmination of the nightmares he hoped would be his last.

It’s a lot and it hurts all the time and he knows it shouldn’t. He knows it’s not about him. His hurt is only temporary, rising up from the sidelines with an excited yell, every so often, only to be scolded and forced back down, _it’s not the time. It’s not the place. I don’t need you right now. There are more important things to focus on_. 

It’s been over a month since Awsten came home, and he knows things have been getting better. He knows progress is slow. Trauma is difficult, and it’s messy, and nothing happens linearly. Some days he’s okay and acting like normal, and others he jumps at every single sound and the slightest bit of movement. Geoff never knows which one he’s waking up beside, any particular day. _He’s working through a lot of stuff, kiddo. Some days are better than others. It’ll take him a while to get back to where he was, and probably even longer to get to being fully okay, but it’ll happen. You just gotta be patient_.

It’s not that he minds. Awsten has nightmares and gets scared so easily and is still recovering from the physicality of his abuse, and it is a lot, but it isn’t that Geoff minds. He can’t. How much of an asshole would he be, in that situation? He knows it’s not Awsten’s fault and he can’t bear to blame him. 

And besides, Awsten gets it too. He knows that some days are bad and apologizes after a particularly different episode, _I know this is too much, sometimes, Geoff. You can’t pretend it isn’t. It’s okay if you need a break_. He’d smile, at this part. _I wish I could get a break too. I can’t, but you can. You don’t have to be here, always_.

Awsten’s told him that and so has Lucas and Quinn’s said it too. _You don’t have to be with him all the time. You can take a break. It’s okay_.

And some days, he wants to. Some days he doesn’t want any of this. Some days it feels like he’s being stretched in every direction possible, like his body is putty and people are grabbing at he malleable ends, unknowing how close he is to snapping. Some days it feels like the putty is losing its elasticity and if he’s pulled just a tiny bit more, he’ll break. Some days the heaviness feels like too much, closing the curtain on the remnants of the personality he possesses and drawing it all into black.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed. He doesn’t want to see anyone. And he doesn’t want to spill reassurances like he’s an open fountain, press against Awsten’s side and force himself to be constant when he just wishes to float away. 

It’s too much.

 _It’s not Awsten’s fault_.

 _It’s too much_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? that therapy scene actually broke my heart tbh but I hope y'all understand a little more of where Jack was coming from with the breakup and everything. he's struggling with his own stuff, but he's so bad at talking about it that people tend to forget. he'll get better at it, trust me on that.
> 
> next chapter, we go back to gerard and frank and see what we can do about stopping that potential trainwreck, luke has a therapy session, and calum....finally works up the courage to talk to ashton about everything. the more comments I get, the quicker it's yours. 
> 
> thanks for reading; I hope y'all enjoyed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is like one of my favorite chapters i've ever written
> 
> trigger warnings - anxiety, panic attacks, and mentions of abuse

It shouldn’t feel like this.

It shouldn’t be invisible chains that are tightening around his chest, winding around the chair and keeping him at rest, unmoving. His breaths are coming but they don’t feel like enough, like his implied “tank” is increasing and the fuel in each oxygen-rich gulp keeps depleting. There’s not enough to fill him up and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s breathing but it isn’t working his chest still feels like it’s being torn open the rip in the seams is only widening _he didn’t think it would be this hard he didn’t think it would be this hard why is it so fucking hard-_

_This is your fault._

_It’s hard because you made it hard._

_You did this, and now you have to deal with it._

He knows that much. He knows he fucked up. And he’s trying not to think about it like that, trying to remember, _it wasn’t your fault, kiddo. You were in the middle of a manic episode and had no idea. You’ll know for next time and so will Ashton and if you keep taking your meds, this won’t keep happening._

_It wasn’t your fault._

_It wasn’t your fault._

_This was not your fault_.

But it still happened. It happened and Ashton got hurt and even if he didn’t mean for that, even if thinking about it now makes his lunch start to rise up and his head start to spin, it still happened. It happened and he did it and there’s nothing that can change that. It doesn’t matter that the mood swings caused it. It happened. _Breathe_. It happened. _Deep breaths_. It fucking actually happened. _You’re not gonna get through this if you don’t breathe_. 

It happened and he has to fix it and he’s not sure how. They don’t exactly make ‘I’m sorry I slapped you while I was having a manic episode’ cards. It wasn’t an accident. It was calculated and direct and the thought of his hand striking Ashton’s face like that still rips into the hole in his chest. He doesn’t want to believe it was real, but it was, and now he has to figure out how to come back from it. Lucas said he could and he knows what he has to do, but the fate of his relationship isn’t necessarily in his hands anymore.

Ashton could choose not to forgive him. He could decide that it’s too much. It’s too much to be with someone who gets like this sometimes, unpredictably. It’s too much to live on the constant throne of unknowns, unable to find peace amongst the constant panic of unfamiliarity. The idea that this will be controllable and easy to manage is a fantasy they can’t shroud themselves in for too much longer. It’s going to be difficult, and – to Ashton – it might not be worth it. 

He swallows, and, with a last deep breath, lifts his hand to knock on Ashton and Alex’s door. 

“It’s open!” That’s Ashton’s voice. It sounds higher. Like it does when he’s in a good mood. Calum bites down on his lip and squeezes his eyes shut briefly. _Breathe. You’re fine_.

“It’s me,” he calls back. 

There’s rustling, and then he hears Ashton walk over to the door. It swings open a couple seconds later, and he meets his boyfriend’s eyes for only a brief second before he has to look away.

The bruise is fading, but it hasn’t been erased. It’s there, purpling his left cheek, sticking out like a sore thumb in all its guilty glory. _You did that. You left that mark on his body. You did that to him_.

“C-Can we talk?” He forces out. He’s trying his best to keep his voice steady. _You will not cry. You will not start crying. You will not_.

Ashton just nods, and holds the door open wider. He steps into the room and hears the door close behind him, and then looks up to where Ashton is making his way over to sit on his bed. He presses further into his lip and joins him, slides onto the edge of the mattress and leaves a good few inches between their bodies.

Ashton is looking at him, waiting for him to say something, and his heart is racing. His heart is racing and his hands are shaking and everything is moving too fast. It feels like he just downed a shot before he walked into this room, bottled up all the anxiety and inhaled it as a precursor to this predicament. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “And I-I know that means shit. ‘Cause, like. Of course I am. If I weren’t I’d be a dick. But I- I’m so fucking sorry, Ash. I didn’t mean to. I would never hurt you like that.”

“Why did you?” Ashton asks. His voice is calm. He doesn’t sound angry in the slightest. 

“Lucas said it was a manic episode,” he replies. “And it sounds confusing and I get it and I’d also get why you wouldn’t wanna be with me, ‘cause I’m gonna have this forever and be like this forever and we’re never gonna know when it’ll strike and the meds probably won’t even fuckin’ work but I just- I didn’t mean to. That wasn’t me. It was like I wasn’t there. And it sounds so weird and I know that but I just-”

“Breathe.” He lets his head flop down and tries to focus on that, draws in a very heavy breath and exhales with a cough. Ashton is rubbing his back and it’s making his heart race even faster _why is he comforting you why do you deserve this why is he so good to you when you’re so shit to him what the fuck_ \- “You’re okay. Just keep taking deep breaths, Cal.”

“Sorry,” he gasps. “I didn’t- I didn’t want to- I just- I’m so scared, Ash. Something’s wrong. And I don’t know what’s gonna happen. And I’m so fucking scared.”

Saying the words out loud has him heaving once more, greedily pulling in too much air and coughing on it when it’s inhaled. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to process it, tries to acclimate to the new climate of heaviness, but it still feels like he’s floating overhead, still not really “in” what’s going on and unable to land the balloon he’s been levitated onto.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Ashton repeats. “Keep breathing. You’re doing good.”

He hears the movement but can’t look at it, and then feels Ashton’s arms on his back, winding around to wrap around his waist and drag him backward. He’s pulled against Ashton’s side, and – instinctively, without any thought behind it – his head flops down onto Ashton’s shoulder. He buries his face in the fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt, as Ashton starts to rub his back.

“I…I just…” he trails off. The tears are creating a blurry film over his eyes, making Ashton into a fuzzy grey blur. “Something’s wrong.”

And the sob is back once more, surging up his throat too furiously to be staunched. He doesn’t try. It comes and then feels like it stops, cages itself behind an invisible barrier lodged in his esophagus in order to gather more tears from within. “Something’s wrong with me.”

“Yeah.” Ashton’s voice is soft. He can feel his breaths against the side of his head; right up o his ear as he moves to pillow it on Ashton’s chest. “But you’re gonna be okay. And we’re gonna help you through it. You’re not alone, Cal, I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” The words feel too thick, clumsy, almost, for his tongue. He stumbles around them clunkily and tries to force his head up, to look at Ashton. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You didn’t mean it,” Ashton echoes. His voice has dropped even more, if possible. He turns his gaze to the mattress, and Calum hears him take in a heavy breath. “You didn’t mean to.”

“It happened, and I’m sorry.”

Ashton smiles at him. “I know you are. And I forgive you. I just…I don’t think I can do this again, Cal. Us. Not yet. Not right now.”

…

“Is there even a point?”

“To what?” Lucas tilts his head and scoots a bit forward in his chair.

“This,” he mutters. The words feel too hot, wrenching themselves out of his body like they’ve been torn. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t talk like this or act like this or _feel_ like this, ever. It’s new and it feels like he’s collapsing on the inside, like the lasting shards of who he was have vanished, gone away with the tempting thought of salvation. 

There’s no salvation here. There’s no hope. There’s nothing.

It’s never been this bad before.

It’s never created this debate, sent shivers up his spine, gathered all the hope together and shoved it into a balloon, watched it hover for as long as he could, _come on. You can do this. Just a few more days. You’ll be home soon. You’ll be with Michael and everything will be okay. You can do this. You’ll be home soon._

_You’ll be home-_

And he is. And it should be okay. It shouldn’t feel like this anymore. It should be different, should be okay now, should be _better_ , than it was before. It shouldn’t feel like his body is closing in on itself and his bones are shattering from the inside out, like he’s only shards because the cards are still not in his favor. They haven’t been and they probably won’t be and he doesn’t know how to deal with that, doesn’t know what he has to do, _please, I just want things to be good. Everything is so bad and it won’t get better and I don’t know what to fucking do anymore. It was supposed to get better when I got back here but it’s not and I don’t know why_ -

“Like, I just…” He trails off and shakes his head. _Michael isn’t here. You’re on your own. You can say it_. “It was so hard, last time. Like, the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done. And when I did it, and got to, like, a point where I wasn’t panicking all the time and could actually do shit without needing Michael every step of the way, I guess I just- I thought the hard part was over. It was really bad for so long and then it got better and I got used to that and now it’s just- it’s bad again but it feels worse and I don’t even know if doing all this is worth it, anymore, ‘cause…what’s stopping something else awful from happening and putting me right back at the start again?”

“Nothing,” Lucas replies. “Something could happen, tomorrow, or five years from now, and you’d be right back in a really bad place, and that would be so shit, Luke. But you wouldn’t be back at the start, that’s for sure.”

“They took everything,” he mumbles. “Things I didn’t even think I had. They fucking took it all. There’s nothing left and I don’t know how to move on from that. They’re always gonna have power over me and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Prove them wrong.”

“What?”

“Prove that they don’t, _because_ they don’t.” Lucas meets his gaze steadily. “They only have power over you if you give it to them. Don’t.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I get that,” Lucas replies. “I lived that. And we’re gonna do this together – you know you don’t havta do anything on your own anymore – but tell yourself today, right now, that you’re not gonna let them keep doing this to you. They don’t have control over your life. They don’t have say. And they _definitely_ don’t have power over you. You’re stronger than them and you’re strong enough to beat this and you will. I believe that. It’ll be a journey and it’ll be hard, just like it was, but it’ll be different.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “How can you be so sure?”

“Start by telling yourself that you’re strong, and you’re capable, and you’re going to prove them wrong. They don’t have control, Luke. They don’t have _power_ , over you, not anymore, at least. You’re in the driver’s seat now. This is all you. Tell yourself that, and the rest will follow.”

…

“What is this?”

Frank’s voice is low, quiet, but harsh, all at the same time. It feels like there are daggers embedded in his words, and each new one sends itself into Gerard’s skin, as he speaks. “Why’d you do all this?”

“We gotta talk,” he says. He’s trying to keep his voice steady. The panic attack happened earlier, _and it’s the only one you’re gonna have today. This is about Frank, not you_. “And I suck at that. I’ve sucked at a lot, lately. So I thought Lucas could kinda help us work through it. ‘Cause I just- I don’t wanna do this anymore, Frankie. I don’t wanna keep hurting you but I don’t know how to fix it on my own.”

“I don’t need more therapy,” Frank mutters. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes are downcast. Gerard’s heart is pounding; it feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, like every layer of panic has snatched a piece from the wall of bone and there’s nothing separating his heart and the outside world, anymore. “Maybe you do, but I don’t.”

It’s like all the daggers have combined themselves into one, shot a massive arrow into the center of his chest, bypassed skin and pierced bone, and inserted themselves into the giant hunk of muscle suspended there. 

Frank _never_ talks like that.

He’s never that cold, that unforgiving, that _bitter_. The blood in his veins feels like poison, after that, like Frank has gone and injected the entire room with his demeanor, closed the curtain on anything else. 

“Don’t think of it as therapy, then,” Lucas cuts in. “You and Gerard are talking. I’m just here in case it gets outta hand.”

“Whatever.”

“Something triggered me,” he forces out. He’s glad he’s sitting down, because his legs already feel like jello and he’s not sure they would hold him up, at the moment. “And I guess, like- the past few weeks have just been me like- tryna deal with it? And I haven’t been good at it, I know that. I just- everything sucks and I’m scared and I didn’t even realize I was pushing you away until Vic told me, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

“Are you, though?” Frank shoots back. “’Cause you keep doing it. And I’m stuck not knowing if you even want me anymore. Everyone else…” He trails off, mutters the rest under his breath, too quiet for them to make out.

“What was that?” Lucas asks. “Don’t hold anything back, Frank. Gerard’s here to listen. You may as well tell him everything.”

His heart is pounding he knew it would be bad but he didn’t know how bad he didn’t know Frank actually had shit he was mad about he didn’t know it was something big _what if you fucked this up for good what if he leaves you because of this what if he fucking leaves stupidstupidstupid_ -

“Everyone else talks,” Frank mumbles. His voice is so soft that it’s hard to hear. “And lets the other person help them. And you don’t. And I know you like dealing with your shit on your own and I get it, and you shouldn’t havta change for me, but I just- you always get so fucking distant and I think you don’t want me anymore ‘cause you don’t fucking talk to me, and I get scared and I just- I hate it.”

He swallows. 

He knows what the problem is, knows why Frank’s so upset, but hearing the words out loud still feel like Frank put on a metal glove and punched him in the stomach. It feels red and black at the same time, too heavy and hot to continue. _Breathe. You can’t do this right now. Breathe. This isn’t about you._

 _This isn’t about you_.

He forces himself to stand – and wobbles a bit, on shaky legs – and walks over to the chair Frank’s sitting in. He kneels in front of it and takes both of Frank’s hands in his. They’re shaking, just like his are. Frank has his face turned away, not meeting his eyes. 

“Can you please look at me?” His voice is trembling. He can’t keep it steady. He knows he won’t be able to.

When Frank finally turns toward him, he bites down on his lip and heaves out a choked breath. “I used to. Talk. When I lived in my old house, with Mikey. I didn’t have anything else. But it was always so fuckin’ heavy, y’know, ‘cause they didn’t touch him. They always hit me and it was really bad. You know all this, I dunno why I’m telling you, sorry, I just-” He pauses in his rambling, _breathe. You’re fine. Breathe_. “I couldn’t be there for him ‘cause I was always so wrapped up in my own head, and seeing me like that kinda- it fucked him up too, I guess? I wanted to be there for him, but I was too fucked up ta do it right. And I-” He has to stop again, let the sob burst and the tears start to roll down his cheeks. “I saw how it affected him. Me, being a mess, y’know? And I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you. I want to be there for you and I can’t do it right, right now, so I just- I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Frank doesn’t say anything. 

He holds his gaze for just a few seconds, before Gerard feels himself being pulled forward and upward, forehead pressed to chest and eyes finally flipping shut. When he shifts backward to look at Frank again, he’s crying too. Frank tilts his head forward and they slide their lips together, messy and slippery. 

“I needa work on it,” he chokes out. “And I’m gonna. That’s what Lucas was here for. And I – if you’re okay with it – I want you ta be there too? I want you to know. It’s not that I don’t. I just- I wanted to be there for Mikey and I fucked that up and I just- I can’t- I love you so much, Frankie. I wanted to protect you and I guess I fucked that up too. I’m sorry. I just- I need you. I know it hasn’t seemed like it lately, but- I really- I need you. To be there. Please?”

Frank nods.

And they kiss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? i love the direction we're heading tbh. it's messy but it's so reminiscent of a lot of things happening in the world that people don't talk about and that's always been my goal with my writing, so i'm glad it's translating so well. i hope y'all are enjoying it too.
> 
> next chapter, we catch up with brendon and ryan (and y'all get an actual insight to how brendon's doing), there's another living room convo, and an awsten/alex scene, along with a possible luke/ashton one. the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours.
> 
> thanks for reading, i hope y'all enjoyed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important author's note at the end. i'd really appreciate it if y'all stuck with me the whole way through it. 
> 
> trigger warnings - depression, mentions of suicide, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of abuse, and mentions of low self-esteem/eating disorders.

“So, y’all are good now?”

“Kinda.” Gerard turns his head and presses his lips against Frank’s temple. “I still havta work on some stuff. Gotta lot ta make up for, y’know?”

“You okay, Frank?”

Frank shoots them a small smile. “I will be.” 

He exhales, breathes out into Michael’s shoulder and intertwines their fingers. Michael doesn’t look at him, but squeezes his hand in response. He glances over at the other side of the room, locks eyes with Ashton, and tilts his head. Ashton bites his lip and gives the slightest shake of his own head, then closes his eyes.

Luke isn’t particularly sure what happened between Ashton and Calum. He knows everything is not good – the mark purpling Ashton’s cheek is only just beginning to fade, and he’s barely seen Calum around the house the past few days – he knows things are messy and he knows it’s even more complicated because of how it happened.

“Lu?” Michael nudges him and he jumps, involuntarily. His heart starts to speed up, pounding through the force of panic that’s beginning to inject itself into his veins. 

“H-huh?” He mumbles. He keeps his gaze on their lips and pulls his own between his teeth. Someone definitely said something, but he missed it. The line separating head and here is unclear, a constant moving boundary that tucks itself into the back of his mind while he drifts into a figment of reality shrouded in fantasy. The intricacies behind people’s intentions are imposing on his involvement in the present, the now, the world beyond unanswered questions. 

He blinks and shakes his head roughly, exhales, and tries to tune back into the world he’s meant to be a part of.

“You okay?” Jack is smiling at him. He has Alex’s hand in both of his but he’s looking in Luke’s direction. “How’s therapy been going?”

He exhales heavily, feels himself start to slump back downward and into Michael. Michael’s arm tightens around his waist as he starts to speak, “good, I guess? I dunno. It’s been a lot. Doesn’t feel worth it sometimes, y’know? Do all this work justa have it torn down in a day. And you can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s so much harder to get better, than it is to get worse,” Brendon agrees. “And I think…I think that’s what fucks me up the most. It’s so fucking easy to get worse, and so _fucking_ hard to get better. Sometimes I don’t feel like there’s a point.”

“It’s hard to stay good,” Vic mutters. “Like, fuck, man. There’s so much you gotta do just ta stay, kinda, _afloat_? And some days I just wanna wake up and be good, not bad enough that I havta force myself to do things to make me feel better.”

“Preach, dude.”

“Depression sucks.”

“At least you know how tomorrow’s gonna go.” 

They all turn. Calum’s head is down and his knees are pulled to his chest. He’s sitting on the floor in the corner of the room, back against the wall, stubbornly refusing to look at any of them. 

“And yeah, depression sucks and it’s shitty waking up every day wishing you didn’t, but at least you don’t wake up _manic_. At least you don’t get random fucking manic episodes that make you punch your boyfriend in the fucking _face_.”

He punctuates the words with a dry sob and buries his face in his knees. Luke inhales heavily and moves his gaze over to the other side of the room, unwinds one arm from Michael’s neck and starts to scoot forward. He has to wince, has to turn his face away for just a moment, because the look on Ashton’s face feels like a stab, a deliberate dagger that digs itself into the depths of his heart. 

He lets his hand linger in Michael’s for as long as he can, before he slips off his lap and takes the few steps over to the couch Ashton is perched on. He reaches for Ashton’s forearm and forces himself not to look at him, pulls him in and off the couch, and then starts immediately for the stairs. Ashton protests at first, but eventually goes quiet and falls into line behind him. 

Luke doesn’t think about where he’s led him until they’re walking in, until he’s standing, pressing his calves against the edge of the bed and reaching to grab his beanie off the dresser, staring at the look on Ashton’s face, _realizing_ , that this room is not his.

He spends so much time in Michael’s – and Calum’s – room that he ends up there instinctively, now. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept in his own room. It definitely had to be before the trial, before being sent back to that house, before everything. This room is messy blankets and things tossed haphazardly, clothes hanging on the edge of the footboard, towels crumpled on the floor, guitar picks lying all over the carpet, Michael’s towels and Michael’s clothes and Michael’s scent; MichaelMichaelMichael-

Ashton is looking around Calum’s side of the room, with newly glassy eyes. Luke crunches down on his lip and squeezes his eyes shut. _Way to go, dumbass_. 

“We can go ta my room instead, shit,” he tries. “Or yours. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking at all, fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ashton’s voice is so soft. He backs up against the edge of Calum’s bed and pulls one of his hoodies off the floor, presses it against his chest and keeps his gaze downcast. 

“Are you?” Luke asks. He slides onto Michael’s bed and wraps an arm around one of the posts. “Okay? I had no idea he was gonna do that.”

“I broke up with him.” When Ashton lifts his head, there are tears on his cheeks. He’s smiling, stroking the shirt with one hand. “I still don’t know why. One of those things you don’t really think about till after it’s out there, y’know? Until after you can’t take it back.”

“You’re allowed ta have feelings about this, Ash,” Luke says. He slides off Michael’s bed and crosses the room to join Ashton on Calum’s. “You’re allowed to not be okay.”

“I love him.” Ashton is fully crying, by now. The tears are rolling down his cheeks steadily, and he’s making no effort to stop them. “So much. But I’m so _sc-scared_. And I d-don’t want to be. But I don’t know how.”

“Why do you havta not be, though?” He reaches for one of Ashton’s shaking hands and wraps both of his around it. “It’s normal to be scared. It was probably fuckin’ terrifying.”

“’Cause it wasn’t his fault,” Ashton whispers. “And it wasn’t on purpose. And I know, I fucking _know_ , he won’t do it again, but at the back of my mind, I’m like, panicking. Every time he comes near me, like, I’m pretty sure he was leaning in for a fuckin’ kiss, and it took everything in me not ta flinch.”

“It’s not his fault,” Luke agrees. He squeezes Ashton’s hand and meets his eyes. “He didn’t do it on purpose. He would never. But it still happened, Ash. It happened and it hurt you and you’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to not be okay. You’re allowed to be whatever, right now.”

“No, I’m not!” Ashton’s voice rises. “I can’t, don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

“I broke _up_ with him! For something he couldn’t fucking control, I ended our relationship over it!”

“You were scared-”

Ashton cuts him off. His eyes are wild and the tears are still streaming. “So was he! And he came in my room and apologized and fucking _cried_ over it, and I still did it. I still fucking dumped him. I made him cry and I’m making this so much fucking _harder_ , for him and all because I’m so fucking scared over something so _stupid_.” He shakes his head vigorously. “Stupid.”

“But it hurt you,” Luke repeats. “And that’s not stupid.”

…

He’s being stupid.

And fuck, he knows it. He knows how dumb he is. He knows how dumb _this_ is. It’s irrelevant and irrational and he _knows_. He’s drifting further and further from practicality with every passing minute, escaping to an abyss that’s barely holding up his throne of unknowns. He doesn’t have a way out. The exit is sealed off, trapping him inside with a rapid cycling thought process he can’t seem to hide. It won’t stop. He doesn’t know how to make it stop. He doesn’t know how to make it fucking-

 _He doesn’t know how to make it stop_ -

Ryan should’ve been here ten minutes ago. He said four o’clock. They agreed. Four o’clock, on the dot. No later, no earlier. They planned today, weeks ago. The boardwalk seemed like the best kind of date for a day that was edging into sixty degrees, not quite warm enough to go on the water, but cool enough that walking up and down the wooden boards and passing into the numerous shops, buying trinkets and trying the amusement park rides, making an entire day of it.

It’s what he’s been holding onto for days. 

It’s the one shaft of light, the one beam of sunshine he’s felt in months, packaged and pressed against the depths of his chest, with the hope that it would grow roots and spread, puddle into a pool of warmth that drifted everywhere. He waited for it, for the feeling after he’d hung up the FaceTime call that day, to grace him once more, to return and spread its wings over his heart, over the fragments of what was left.

He waited for things to change, but everything’s been so consumed in staying the same. He’s been waiting for things to get better, for the shaft of light to poke through this barrier of darkness and offer some kind of luminescence, _it was supposed to get better the bad was supposed to be over it’s not bad anymore nothing is bad anymore why isn’t everything better why aren’t things better why am I not-_

 _why am i not better_ -

He was supposed to be. Ryan’s accident was almost five months ago. He’s been out of the coma for almost three. It’s been okay, since. Ryan’s been okay. His casts are off and the bandages are gone and he walks and runs and _bikes_ places, like he used to. There were no fluctuations or complications, no second operations that sent him whirling backward, reeling in the concentration that _nothing good ever happens to me there’s nothing good it’s always bad and it always sucks and I always think I’m okay and it’s yanked out from under me they tell me I’m okay until they get me to believe it but nothing’s okay nothing’s okay ever_ -

But he’s found himself there anyway. And maybe it’s the price to pay for what he said while Ryan was in a coma, maybe it’s his karma for just wishing all of this would be over, maybe it’s the world turning around and laughing at him, sticking its tongue out, _you thought this would be over once Ryan got better? You thought you were done with this? You know what you said. You know what you wished for_.

It’s not over yet, fuck up.

“B!”

The voice cracks into the thought-layering glass that’s begun to surround him, as Ryan grabs him into a hug. He lets his body flop over, heart starting to drop back into its place as everything folds around it. He inhales heavily. 

“I’m so sorry, fuck, I was helping my mom around the house, and totally lost track of time, and fuck, there was this huge fuckin’ traffic jam I couldn’t get around…” Ryan rambles. _In, and out. Breathe. Ryan’s okay. Everything’s okay. Breathe, you stupid piece of shit. Breathe_. 

He wraps his arms around Ryan’s neck and buries his face into the junction of his shoulder as he continues to breathe out, long and heavy. “D-don’t do that again.”

…

He’s heard those chords before.

They’re familiar, a melody his fingers have spelled out far too many times, pressed so deep into his chest that they whisk him backward. He’s moving in place, unable to wrench himself from the new space his mind is beginning to create. 

He winces as he gets up, brings a protective arm across his abdomen and stands gingerly. “God, fuck.” He grunts out the words. His body is still pulling at the injury, over a month later. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did in the beginning, and getting his stitches out lessened the pain even more, but his ribs still tug and pull against his skin, aching furiously. 

But it’s okay.

It’s okay enough that Geoff doesn’t _need_ to be by his side 24/7 – he still insists on doing it and Awsten knows it’s not exactly something he can control; Geoff’s paranoia about the situation won’t be cured by a few choice words and some time in bed together, he knows that, and he knows it’ll take time, but he hates how much Geoff worries, all the time – so it feels like something.

It feels like progress, if anything. 

He hasn’t made as much of that as he’d like, lately.

And he knows not to rush it, he knows recovery isn’t linear and it won’t happen easily, won’t fall into the grooves and complete the puzzle and act as the last hurdle before the finish line, but sitting up still hurts and bending down feels like fire and he really just wants to take a piss without crying. 

He follows the sound, once he’s in the hallway, makes his way toward the door from behind which it’s coming from, intrigued. 

He lets himself into Alex and Ashton’s room quietly. The sound doesn’t let up. Alex has his head down and his eyes closed, fingers moving fluidly across the neck of the instrument in his lap. There’s a notebook open on his desk, pen tossed across the open pages that Awsten can see, have been written on. Potentially lyrics? He doesn’t know. 

The melody is so nice. He finds his way over to Alex’s bed and slides onto it, does his best to bite down on his lip and not make a sound, as it once again pulls at his ribs. The song is beautiful. 

Alex is swaying, moving his head from side to side, and then occasionally opening his mouth to sing a line. They’re words Awsten’s never heard before. He listens, watches Alex continue to strum and winces at the breaks in his voice at certain parts. The song is sad. He knows that, at least.

Pretty face, but the chase ain’t worth the prize. _I’m gonna break your little heart, watch you take the fall, laughing all the way to the hospital, cause there’s nothing surgery can do_. 

He waits until the music stops, before he opens his mouth. “Whoa, dude, I didn’t know you played guitar…” Alex jumps and looks up, hands stilling on the guitar. “Fuck, sorry. Keep going. Didn’t mean ta interrupt.”

“W-when did you get here?” He stammers. “Have you been watchin’ me this whole time?”

“Like, two seconds ago, promise.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Just…it sounded really good. I wanted ta wait till you were done.”

“This?” Alex shrugs. “It’s really rough. I just started something, a coupla weeks ago, and I wanted ta play it through and see if I could make it into something.”

He nods vigorously. “It’s so fucking awesome, dude. I love the lyrics.” He can see a flush starting to form on Alex’s cheeks, and watches him duck his head, reach back to rub at his neck. “Although…s’not ‘bout Jack, right?”

“No!” Alex’s voice rises significantly with the word. His eyes are wide. “Of course not, why the fuck would you think that?”

“I mean, y’all just got good again, and therapy…I dunno. Sometimes I use lyrics ta say what I can’t say out loud, y’know? Just me. No one’s gonna hear them, anyway. Get ta be as much of a dick as I want.” He swallows and takes in a heavy breath. _You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Breathe_. 

“Your feelings don’t make you a dick,” Alex says quietly. “You’re not being an ass just for the sake of being ass.” He pauses and looks up. “And, for the record…the only song I’ve written about Jack, or _for_ Jack, I guess, is…” He reaches for the notebook and flips it back a few pages, and then holds it out. 

He traces one finger across the page as he reads, _keep me safe, keep me sane, keep me honest_ …

“You keep me alive?” He asks. “You’re like a siren in the dark, you’re the beat playing in my heart, _you keep me alive_ …holy fuck, Alex. This is- jesus fuckin’ christ…”

“It’s sappy and dumb,” Alex mutters. He takes the notebook back and flips it closed, still keeping his gaze on the ground. “I sound like a fuckin’ idiot, I-”

“Alex,” he interrupts. “Have you showed this to Jack?”

“What? Absolutely not, you crazy?” Alex rolls his eyes. “It’s sappy and gross and not even that good of a song, why would he wanna see it?”

“Jack hates himself,” he deadpans. He meets Awsten’s eyes. “You know it, I know it, the entire fuckin’ house knows how bad he is about it. And it’s been a thing since I got here, since _before_ I got here, according to Geoff and Vic and Gerard. It’s never gotten better, Alex. He’s never gotten better.”

“And then you came into his life,” he continues. “And he’s eating again. He’s eating and he’s keeping it down and he’s _trying_ , and…” He trails off, when his voice breaks. _Breathe. You’re fine_. He forces in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “You don’t see it. How anyone could see anything good in you. When you’ve hated yourself for so long, you just- it doesn’t click. How can they love me? How can they even _want_ me? How can they see me as any more than I fucking see myself?”

“You called him the beat playing in your heart, Alex.” He’s finally crying. His voice is hoarse with the tears. His vision is blurry and he can feel the liquid on his lashes. “Say it to his face. Show him the song. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? i wanted to talk about something, but before we get to that...what are your guys' opinions on where things are going? alex and jack on the road to fixing things, brendon still trying to process his trauma over what happened to ryan, gerard and frank starting to work on their relationship (and gerard's admission of what was really going on, last chapter), and finally, awsten and geoff and the juxtaposition of their feelings about everything...how are we feeling about it? i'd really love to know! :)
> 
> onto what i wanted to say...i know i've been vocal, in the past, about people telling me to update and being upset by that. i still stand by those words - it's something a lot of fanfic writers don't talk about, because we're meant to constantly be grateful for what we get, and trust me, we are, but that doesn't necessarily strip our humanity away. however, i...i really hope that hasn't steered some of y'all away from commenting. my intent was only at people who comment things like "update", and nothing else. those types of comments don't sit well with me. i just...it feels like more of a demand, than anything, and i hate how harsh it is, even though it's probably not meant to be. i doubt any of them were intended maliciously. i'm human and things just bother me sometimes, too. i try not to look at numbers, not to focus on them, because i really do write for me before anyone, but i've definitely seen a drop and i'm not sure why. 
> 
> i know i haven't been as consistent with posting, not nearly as much as i was last year, but...to be totally real with you guys, the reason i was writing so fast and posting every two days was because i was so lonely and in such a bad mental place with depression. this story was all i had. i'm glad i'm not there anymore. i'm doing more than just one fic, and honestly...i haven't written much at all, lately. college is hard. i'm almost halfway through my degree and the workload is becoming heavier and heavier. and of course, a large part of it is my focus on making my work even better and giving myself time to really sit down and do that. the quality's definitely gone up, in the process of quantity taking a hit.
> 
> anyway, i just wanted to let y'all know where my head's at. i've been taking a step back from social media, as a whole, lately, and trust me, it's brought on some heavy realizations. 2019 is going to be different, that's for sure.
> 
> to reiterate: if you wanna follow me (i don't post as many updates on stories on twitter, but i try to post previews/teasers on tumblr), my twitter is @theghostofafi, tumblr is theghostofashton, and wattpad is also theghostofashton. i love talking with you guys. send me messages (if you wanna!)
> 
> next chapter, we've finally got a malum scene (about time we get into mikey's head about all the cashton stuff, eh?), group therapy for jack and co, and some fluffy (happy) kellic. the more comments i get, the quicker it's yours. please guys, i'd love to know your thoughts about all of this, story related or not. 
> 
> thank you for reading. i appreciate you all. i hope you've enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Not too far from TDIU, are we? I told you guys it wouldn't be too different. The mom pov is not going to be in every chapter - I just felt like it would be the best way to get a general overview of everything, because if I used Alex or Geoff or someone, there would a clear focus on their own relationship over everyone else. The moms are unbiased. Next chapter, a Pete starts to notice what Patrick's doing and the confrontation doesn't go the way he hopes, a therapy session that ends...not the best, and the extent of the damage for Awsten begins to come out. The more comments I get, the quicker you get the chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.


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